Daughter of Darkness (AHS: Apocalypse)
by Jurana Keri
Summary: From beginnings as the daughter of a high-ranking Cooperative agent to Princess of her father's kingdom, Melanie Langdon has always been privileged. Is rising to inherit the Antichrist's throne in her destiny? [Sequel to 'King of Hell'; AU Apocalypse if the coven did not save the world]
1. Ch 1 - The Birth of Death

**Chapter 1: The Birth of Death**

May 1, 2019.

Cordelia remembered what day it was – _she returns to us_ , she thought. With excitement, she paced around and smiled. At midnight, the brink between Halloween and November 1, Michael Langdon had come to retrieve Misty Day's soul as fulfillment of her end of the deal. He had held her captive in the underworld, but he treated her like an absolute queen out of some twisted love for her. During their hellish wedding ceremony, Misty was given bloody wine and pomegranate seeds to consume to bind her to it, and him, forever. This one detail caused a lot of conflict between the Supreme and the Antichrist, so it came to be decided that Misty spend the spring and summer up in the mortal coil with her beloved sisters, and the autumn and winter down in the nether realms with Michael.

The Supreme, sitting along with Myrtle, Madison, Zoe, Coco, Mallory, and Queenie in the ancestry room thought for a moment about the seemingly eternal period of time Misty had been gone. Thanksgiving was not as joyous without her laughing and enjoying the meal before her, as she normally did. Christmas was not nearly as festive; New Years went by with merely a prayer that Michael was treating her well; and Cordelia was _not_ religious by any means. Easter passed with a simple afterthought.

Life was not the same without their beloved White Witch.

 _Knock-knock-knock…_

"She's here," the Supreme said, springing up from her seat. Zoe and Mallory were the first to accompany their superior to the door. Upon opening it, an action which was done slowly, they saw Misty, the witch they were expecting. Cordelia's face lit up, paired with jovial tears, taking her into her arms tightly. Misty seemed to just collapse into the Supreme's arms, but Mallory was the first to notice something very different about her that Cordelia failed to. She seemed a bit wider around the waist and hips; the fine silk dress did a horrible job hiding it.

"Miss Cordelia," Mallory whispered. "Let her go for a minute."

"No, she just came back…" she said tearfully.

"I'm serious," Mallory repeated. "Let her go just for a minute. Look."

Finally obeying her command, the Supreme looked down and gasped. Through her ebony silk dress was a full-term pregnancy right before her eyes. Shaking with fear and anticipation, Cordelia rested her hand on Misty's swollen abdomen and felt way more than she could see. The newly-arrived Misty looked weakened and in desperate need of food. Underneath her palm, she could feel a peculiar swirling inside her womb.

"Y-You're…. pregnant…" Cordelia said with shock. _It's a girl_ , she intuited.

"I…know," Misty said weakly. "I'm… starvin'. C-Can I eat?"

"You're full term…" the Supreme went on. "It's only been since November."

"We'll get you some food, Misty," Zoe said. "Come in right now."

* * *

Misty was sat down promptly at the dining table and given what seemed like a potluck of food. Myrtle, Queenie, and Zoe got as much as they could to make sure their sister witch was fed. They even heated up leftovers from dinner the night before and lined it all up for her to choose from as she sat. The first thing she grabbed was a turkey leg, which she devoured. When all of the meat and skin was gone, Cordelia and Mallory watched in horror as Misty bit down on the bones as well, crunching on every fragment. This was enough to trigger Mallory to speed to her side and put her arm around her.

"Misty, stop it," she said. "Slow down. You're going to choke."

The pregnant witch swallowed some of the turkey bones she chewed and wiped her mouth with the cloth napkin provided; "oh, I'm fine. I ain't chokin'. Like I said, they don't serve solid food in hell."

"You're not supposed to eat bones," Mallory said. "It's bad for you. Plus, you could cut your mouth or break a tooth."

Misty smiled, directly contradicting Mallory's concern. There was not a single drop of blood nor a broken tooth. In fact, there was too much food between her teeth to accurately tell. "See anythin' there?"

"N-No." Mallory was a little grossed out to see the plaque and stood up. "Just… eat as much as you want. Just don't eat bones."

"Mallory," Cordelia cut in, "a word?"

The young witch looked at her superior and then to Zoe, who took over supervising Misty's voracious appetite. She followed Cordelia out of the dining room and listened to what she had to say. Her dark chocolate eyes were full of concern and worry.

"Yes?"

"Mallory," she began, "something is wrong. Really wrong. I have a bad feeling."

"What do you mean?"

"That baby can _not_ be human," Cordelia explained. "A normal gestation for a human is nine to ten months. _That_ in there is a full-term pregnancy, and it's only been six months."

"I think me or you should talk to her and see what's up," Mallory suggested. "You'd know better than me."

"I wonder if she should go to the doctor," Cordelia said. "What I felt… it was like a… a…" She thought for a moment, still remaining a soft tone, "a _snake_ slithering around in there…"

"A snake? Are you sure it wasn't just turning on its own?" Mallory asked.

"No, no," Cordelia said, "it wasn't like that."

Then a familiar yell came from the other room: "MISTY, ARE YOU CRAZY? YOU CAN'T DRINK!"

The two rushed back to the dining room and witnessed Zoe withholding a wine bottle that was not even set on the table from Misty, who looked as though she were crying with desperation just then. She could not reach the bottle, which only made her want it more.

"Please… I need it… _please_!"

"You don't drink, Misty," Zoe replied. "What the hell did he-"

Cordelia held her hand out and telekinetically took the bottle from Zoe's raised hand so that she was holding it now. She placed it on the decorative table near the door and walked forward, her dark eyes meeting Misty's fatigued bright blue ones. They squinted shut into a soft cry, and Cordelia felt a pang in her heart for her. It only made the Supreme wonder if Michael did anything to her down in the underworld that made her this way – well, aside from the obvious pregnancy.

"Misty?" she asked. "We need to talk. Can you cooperate for a little bit?"

"I…I wanna finish eatin', I'm still hungry," she whined.

"That is fine," Cordelia said. "Please, meet me in my office after you finish." Walking out, she looked to Zoe and ordered, "watch her."

* * *

She waited in the office for two hours for Misty to come in. _Two hours to eat_ , Cordelia thought, _what is this? A buffet? Oh that's right, they got everything they could out of the fridge_.

As she took a deep breath, she saw the door open to Myrtle, dressed in a ridiculously eccentric polka-dot outfit with bright yellow gloves holding Misty by the arm to keep her stable. She was able to trudge forward a few steps as Myrtle shut the door tightly behind them. When the old witch tried to keep Misty up, she buffed her and stood up straight, erect, and as though she wasn't pregnant at all. Yet her swollen womb stuck out like a sore thumb through her exquisite black silk empire dress. The skirt reached to the middle of her shins, and she was wearing plain dark gray ballet flats. Her golden curls were loose, matted and messy, and despite being exhausted from her trip up from the underworld and her heavy pregnancy, her face still had that diamond-shaped, ethereal charm to it.

"Poor bird ate us out of house and home," Myrtle said, shaking her head. "Even sucked the marrow from a ham bone before devouring it whole."

"I ain't normally like this, Miss Cordelia," Misty said with shame in her voice.

"You're pregnant," Cordelia said. "It's normal to eat more than your share… but… I am _very_ concerned."

"Why?"

"Let me start out this way. Did Michael… force you to do anything?"

"Like what?"

"Sex," Cordelia said bluntly.

Misty shook her head: "oh, no." Myrtle, who was now sitting off to the side, nodded at Cordelia; being a guardian in the veracity of the vernacular, she was able to sense when someone was lying. Misty was telling the truth.

"How often did you do that?"

Misty took a moment to think and sighed; "I don't remember."

"Try to remember."

Nodding, she replied; it sounded more like a guess: "three?"

Myrtle sighed heavily off to the side and shook her head, catching her Supreme's attention immediately: "poor bird."

"He didn't harm me," Misty said.

"It's not that, it's just…" Myrtle was hesitant to continue, "un _canny_ how you're full-term so soon."

"I don't know," the swamp witch said with a weak sigh. "I feel like… this… _baby_ , is gonna crawl outta me any minute…"

"How does it feel in there?" Cordelia asked.

"I feel clawin', slitherin' like a snake," Misty replied, "I feel sick every other day, but every day down in hell is like… a minute. It don't pass like it does up here."

Cordelia and Myrtle looked at each other, knowing full well the extent of the situation. This baby was not human at all, or so it seemed. Cordelia began to remember Madison's testimony when she returned from that Victorian manor in California, a journey she endured with Behold Chablis, a warlock, to find out more about Michael's less-than-humble beginnings. Nothing about his own birth was natural, either. He was born three months after conception, and even had a twin in utero which he devoured and took the life force from. His mother, Vivian Harmon, had died after an extremely painful labor and shock from blood loss. The last thing worried Cordelia the most, and nearly brought her to tears.

"Misty," she said, "you're excused. May Myrtle and I have a moment?"

Obeying her command, Misty shuffled out of the room and left the door slightly ajar and listened in on their conversation.

"Myrtle, she could die having that baby," Cordelia said gravely. "Michael's own mother died bringing him into the world, and I will _not_ lose her again."

"I'm sure it won't be anything like that," Myrtle said. "They didn't have a witch in that house when he was born. I'm sure if it were so, his mother would be alive alongside him."

"I'm so scared. She looks like she is about to have that baby, or _whatever_ it is."

"I'm not saying the birth will be easy, but we have magic on our side. We should allow Mallory to sleep beside her and supervise her as she sleeps. That baby is going to be born by tomorrow, I guarantee it!" Myrtle's voice danced at this point in her speech. "When it is born, it will claw out like a bat out of hell."

* * *

Mallory did as told, being assigned to watch Misty as she slept. She made sure the expecting mother was comfortable on her side in bed before sitting on one of the upholstered chairs in the room. She checked the clock on the wall; as it read 11:45pm, she felt her eyes getting heavy. Falling fast asleep, she could hear maniacal, masculine laughing over the sounds of fire roaring and people screaming in agony – men, women and children. Then, her dreaming brain was able to make out images of slithering snakes and floating white mists all leading up to what looked to be a woman in an all-white lace gown that seemed indistinguishable from her pallid skin. If one were to make their eyes travel from her feet to her head, they would notice that it only got to more shades of black and gray. The woman's eyes, a knife-piercing gray, were covered in black sooty makeup, the same kind that rested sparsely on her lips. On her head was a strange, ornate headdress with a spikey crown, Swarovski crystals, and a piece of lace covering her forehead. On closer inspection, her hair was half black, and half platinum white; the colors were divided by a middle part. The demonic, yet alluring woman opened her mouth to scream, exposing the row of fangs on the fronts of both jaws; it was shrill and piercing, enough to even wake Mallory from the dream.

"AHH! OW! OW! HELP!"

Mallory jumped from her seat and ran to Misty, knowing full well it was time. Yet the thoughts of the dream she had lingered on – was it prophetic?

"Misty," she said, leaning to touch her forehead. "I'm here."

She grabbed her hand, withstanding the screams that pierced her eardrums as she made Misty sit on the edge of the bed from where she was laying. Mallory put her hand on her swollen abdomen and felt little feet stomping against her uterine lining.

"I CAN'T MOVE! HELP!"

"Misty, you need to breathe, please," Mallory said pleadingly.

Without even having to call them in, the Supreme, Myrtle, Coco, Queenie, and Zoe all came in to assist in the birth of Misty's offspring. Cordelia rushed to Misty's side and held her hand, while Myrtle grabbed a stool for her to put her feet on as she sat with her buttocks all the way at the edge of the bed. Mallory got in front of the stool and lifted the bottom of Misty's nightgown up only to be shocked by a horrifying sight; the entire area between her legs was not really even covered in amniotic fluid that broke, but instead pure, dark red blood.

"Oh god," Mallory said, nearly retching from the sight.

"What?" Coco asked.

"Towels, _now_!"

Coco rushed with Queenie behind her to get the requested cleaning supplies, but the blood just kept flowing to the point where Misty's screams seemed to mute themselves. Instead, they were silenced to just mere whimpers, and Mallory could see the baby's head sliding out with ease until half of its body was out. She was very shocked to see that despite Cordelia's suspicions, it was indeed a human baby. She gathered it in her hands and looked down at it; it did not cry, nor whimper. Yet it was breathing as though it were alive.

"It's alive," Mallory said.

"What?" Cordelia asked.

"It isn't crying, but it's alive," she said, taking a peek between its legs. " _She's_ alive."

Coco and Queenie looked away from where Mallory was when they entered with the towels, and they tossed her one. She immediately wrapped the infant up in it and held it close, wiping any blood off its face. However, once it was clean, the baby girl began to cry like magic. The cry was faint, however. Cordelia could hear it, even though she was more preoccupied with Misty's declining life force. Holding her hand, she felt her start to get cold and clammy, and paler by the second.

"Misty," she cried. "Please…"

The swamp witch was so weak she could barely turn her head to face the Supreme, and though she could hear her newborn baby daughter crying, she could not bring herself to ask Mallory to bring the baby up to her so she can look at her for the first time. She was clinging onto life, but in so much pain that praying for death was the most logical.

"Misty… I'm here," Cordelia cried, "we are _all_ here for you."

"Should we do vitalum vitalis?" Zoe asked with concern.

"Go ahead," Myrtle whispered.

Zoe approached her dying sister witch and went on the other side, scooting past Coco and concentrated all of her life force to channel it into her to keep her alive. With a simple " _vitalum vitalis_ ," she breathed her willpower into the lifeless body, but to no avail. So, she tried again. Failure.

"Let me in there," Queenie offered. She performed vitalum vitalis as well, three times. No. By this point, Misty's heart and breathing completely stopped. Her eyes stared off into space like a dead fish.

Mallory put the baby girl in Myrtle's arms and went ahead to perform resurgence and injury reversal. The latter of the two worked better, as the blood between her legs cleaned itself up, however bringing her back to life was just not working. So, she tried again, but got distracted by Cordelia's silent sobs next to her. A third time ensued, and with frustration, she failed. _I never fail at this_ , she thought, _what is going on_?

"Well," Mallory said sadly and morosely. "Miss Cordelia… you try."

"Why is this failing, it shouldn't be," she sobbed.

"Gather yourself," Myrtle encouraged. "Bring her back. Vitalum vitalis."

Cordelia mustered up all the power she humanly could and performed the spell, breathing her life force into Misty's corpse a few times. However, frustration prevented her from successfully doing the first attempt.

" _Vitalum vitalis_ ," Cordelia sighed, "please! _PLEASE_! You can't leave us!"

All of the witches gasped in shock to see that Misty's corpse decayed into black ash that seemed to swirl around Cordelia as she tried to perform it a second time. The Supreme, dumbfounded at the failures of all her witches, looked around and sobbed hysterically, screaming in defeat.

"Why, WHY?!"

"We all tried," Mallory said with tears in her eyes. "I never fail at this."

"What the hell did she give birth to that blocked our powers?" Queenie asked in distress.

"I don't know… but…"

Cordelia's tears of mourning turned to fury, grunting the word: "Langdon."

"You think Michael was responsible?" Zoe asked. "How?"

"We killed his allies, Zoe," she grunted. "Now, he wants to kill us all… starting with this… _poor_ , _sweet_ girl."

A month before, it was discovered that Ariel Augustus, Chancellor of the warlocks, and Baldwin Pennypacker were in cahoots in a conspiracy to not only take over the Supremacy but kill every last witch at Miss Robicheaux's Academy. This was a so-far-failed effort to make Michael rule in Cordelia's place. A warlock close to Ariel and Baldwin, John Henry Moore, was killed by Miriam Mead, the Satanic foster mother of Michael whose ambition spread to include his. With everyone's help, John was resurrected from a pile of ash he was reduced to by Mallory, and Cordelia was able to sentence all three by burning at the stake for being a threat to the witches. When Michael discovered that they were killed, Cordelia had done a spell to lock their souls in the underworld for all eternity, and he vowed revenge on them. It seems that Misty was his first victim – how could this be? Didn't he treasure her as his bride and consort?

"We can't let Michael have this baby," Mallory said with concern, hearing calm babbles in her ear as she rocked it slowly. "It's too dangerous."

"Given what I felt while she was in there," Cordelia added, "it wouldn't matter either way. That baby may _look_ human, but she is _not_."

"We will need to raise it," Myrtle said solemnly, "for Misty."

"For the time being," Queenie said sadly, "what the hell, though? Why can't a children's home take her? She's a danger."

"Michael can divine," Cordelia contradicted. "If he finds out his baby was abandoned, he _will_ kill us for sure. In the meantime, we have to look after her and make sure he does not find her."

"But this is the first place he'll look, Delia," Myrtle said. "Why don't I make reservations at a hotel and Mallory can go with you?"

"How long will we stay?" the young witch asked, still holding the relatively calm baby.

"Oh, it won't be long. I can assure you."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _I am already back with the SEQUEL to King of Hell, my main story for season 8! I'm so excited, very special shoutout to the ones who reviewed my last story for motivating me to make a sequel. Hell, even I felt the story was incomplete. I reckon this story won't be a short like the last one, so... that'll be good._

 _If you have not read King of Hell: AHS Apocalypse, I highly recommend you do so that you understand this story._

 _As always, Follow, Favorite, and be sure to Review and leave feedback on what you think so far! Thanks again for all the support!_


	2. Ch 2 - A Father's Promise

**Chapter 2 – A Father's Promise**

In the days following Misty's brutal death in childbirth, the coven was in mourning. Cordelia took it the hardest of course. Myrtle did everything she could to console her and get her mind off it – taking her out to have fancy dinners and drinks at the finest restaurants in town, taking her to the kitschy boutiques in the French Quarter, but nothing was a balm for her soul. She lost Misty for a third time. It was too much to handle. It was bad enough a deal had to be made due to the conditions of the underworld, but this was just not fair. The Supreme felt so selfish wanting Misty and her light nature around, but she also knew this was not fair for her either. Going to and from the underworld and being bound to it was hell on its own, let alone actually spending time down there.

Out of all the witches, Mallory spent the most time with the baby girl. Cordelia had elected to stay at the school, leaving her all alone for the task of nurturing her. Myrtle had booked a luxurious hotel suite for her and the baby to stay in safely. She was not given a name, although she was tempted to name her herself. Despite the newborn's demonic heritage, Mallory made the most of her time with the baby and even got a bit attached. She fed her, but she did not take well to formula – instead, she preferred cow or goat milk, or smoothies of blended raw offal. Mallory, upon discovering her appetite for raw organs, was creative with liver, gizzards, hearts, and even tongues to make these special smoothies and put them in bottles for the baby to easily consume. Of course, being a baby meant having to burp and fill a diaper. Mallory had to grin and bear doing both of these things and was even shocked at the results. The baby girl burped like a champ, as though her bottle was filled with Alka-Seltzer. The diapers were too much to imagine, given that she was fed pureed raw organs and either cow or goat milk through a bottle – some days, it even made Mallory retch with disgust.

It was about two weeks into this endeavor of safe-keeping that Mallory had run out of supplies, so she decided to go out of the hotel, baby in tow, to the butcher to get the organs she needed to nourish her. When she reached the destination, she made her order, only for the employee behind the counter to furrow his brows in shock.

"I need chicken hearts and gizzards," she ordered. "Oh, and livers with that, if you can. I also need a whole cow tongue."

"Miss, what exactly are you makin'?" the butcher asked with confusion. "May as well kill the thing yourself."

"Oh, just… a special version of paté," Mallory fibbed with a charming smile.

While waiting for the butcher to procure what she ordered, she paid for it with the cashier helping her. As she swiped the black titanium credit card Myrtle gave her, she felt as though a pair of eyes was watching her and the baby in her right arm. When she heard a happy coo come from the little girl, she turned to look at her and then back behind her only to see no one was there. Shrugging, she gathered what she purchased and walked out of the store. Yet all she could do was peer behind her shoulder every few houses she passed, and she could see the faint shadow of a tall man with long, shoulder-length blond hair and a fedora coming toward her. Without hesitating, she paged down the nearest taxi as soon as she could and hopped in without explaining a word to the cabbie.

"Ritz-Carlton," Mallory said. " _Fast_."

Without hesitating, the cab driver hit the gas, making streak noises in the street as he came up to the small line of traffic before him. Mallory closed her eyes and prayed silently that the man she got a glimpse of wasn't Michael – yet it was so convenient. It was hard to rule out the possibility that it was not him and instead some stranger who wanted her number instead. _Not likely_ , she thought. The traffic moved along, and as they turned a block onto the next street, she could clearly see, for a split second, who it was – a handsome, ironically angelic man with wavy long blond hair to his shoulders. He was wearing a red linen scarf with a black velvet dinner jacket, slacks, and boots to his knees. It was enough to send chills down her spine. While still in the cab, she dialed Cordelia on her cellphone and the Supreme answered promptly.

"Mallory? Is everything alright? How is the baby?" she asked.

"I… I think Michael is following me," Mallory replied worriedly.

There was hesitation in the reply that followed: "w-what do you mean? Where are you?"

"I just flagged a taxi. I'm in it now. I had to get food for the baby."

"I will be right over," she said. "With Myrtle, and with Zoe. Don't let her out of your sight."

"I won't."

Then she hung up. Within five minutes she was in vicinity of her destination, she tapped on the cabbie's shoulder, and he looked back, halting his driving for a moment.

"Please," she ordered, "take me to the back of the hotel, in the back-parking lot."

"Why?" he asked. "The entrance is right here."

Mallory knew to use her concilium to get him to comply: "this is a matter of life or death for me, sir. I'd appreciate you take me to the back of the building."

Without further questions, the cab driver complied and did as asked. Mallory looked around for a back entrance, and with the baby and bag of offal she got from the butcher shop, she left the cab and ran to it. Finding it was locked, she used telekinesis to unlock it and was able to get in. To cover her tracks, she did the same maneuver to lock the door back up again, and she travelled through a series of hallways all leading to the front lobby through a special employee door. The concierge and front desk receptionist noticed this, and made mentioned.

"Hey, you're not an employee, you're not supposed to…"

Using concilium once again, Mallory waved her hand in the air directed at them to silence them and make them forget she was even there. She hopped into the nearest elevator and was the only one in it going up to the seventh floor. As she and the baby went up, she heard cooing and whining coming from her little body.

"Shh…" she said softly. "Quiet, now."

When she got off the elevator, she got the key card for her room out, and when she looked up, Cordelia, Myrtle and Zoe were already there, waiting for her. Mallory, with a sigh of relief, smiled at them.

"Thank god," she said. "I was beginning to worry."

"Don't mention it," Myrtle replied, putting her hand on her shoulder and taking the bag of animal organs from her possession. "If he wants to kill you, he needs to go through us first."

"Thank you so much," Mallory said. "For everything."

Sliding the key card into the receiver, she opened the door and let her sister witches walk in. However, Cordelia stopped in her tracks and nearly screamed to see the very person Mallory was avoiding sitting down in the living area with an insincere, victorious grin on his face, his hands and fingertips together in tandem, and his light blue-green eyes staring at the baby girl. His golden waves were neatly combed and atop his head rested a black fedora.

"I find it so hilarious how you think you can trick me," he said menacingly, telekinetically slamming the door shut behind the witches and standing up. "Very clever."

"Michael…" Cordelia began, stern yet keeping her anger in check. "Misty is _dead_. We _know_ you killed her! Don't feed us this _bullshit_ about loving her… if you loved her that much, you would have kept your end of the deal and not given her such an _excruciating_ way to go."

"My own mother died the same way," Michael said unsympathetically. "At least my bride is with me now. Forever." He paused for a moment, approaching Mallory and staring down into her calculating, soft brown eyes. "You take from me the _one_ person who _never_ betrayed me, and now you keep from me my own _flesh and blood_. I already told Cordelia here what I would do with all of you, but now, you've made your graves _so_ much deeper."

"You aren't fit to raise a child!" Myrtle snapped; even when angry, she sounded eloquent and refined. "What in God's name would you do with her? Take her to hell where she will never see the sun a day in her life. Ugh! Sounds like such a _dreadful_ existence! I'd pray for death."

Furious, Michael did not hesitate to telekinetically launch the elder carrot top witch back into the heavy wooden door behind her, creating a huge thud sound as her back and head hit the surface. Cordelia gasped and rushed to her aid, as did Zoe, who crouched next to her and saw that she was unconscious. With tears in her eyes, Cordelia screamed hysterically with worry about Myrtle's fragile state at her age, and looked to Michael with pure odium.

"I was wrong… you have NO HUMANITY!" she yelled. "What is it you want?! Leave us be!"

"Give me back what is rightfully mine and stay out of my _fucking way_!" the Antichrist hissed, looking over at Mallory. However, he was distracted by the smell of the raw organs she still had in the bag. The young witch, still holding the bizarrely calm baby, stared at him with fright as his eyes flashed black at her before turning into their human intense blue-green color.

"It's good to see you've been taking care of my daughter," he said with a sly smile. "Livers… hearts… tongues…"

"S-She won't take to the formula," Mallory said, her voice shaking as she struggled to stay calm. Cordelia and Zoe looked at each other in horror as the young witch bravely tried to diffuse his dangerous temper. _She's been feeding that baby organs_ , the Supreme thought to herself with disgust.

"I hope you've had fun playing the nanny, but she is _my daughter_ ," Michael snided, holding out his arms. "Give her to me."

"I… I can't…"

"If you do," Michael offered suspiciously, "I will leave you bitches alone."

"Michael," Cordelia asked, standing up and facing him. "W-Why was Misty so heavily pregnant when she came to the mortal coil a few weeks ago?"

"Oh, she'd been with child since about December or January," he replied. "Demon births last about three months, but since she is half human, she was in for five."

"And… what about that… slithering feeling?" Zoe asked in horror.

"It's normal for our kind," he said. "I bet she clawed out of her like a bat out of hell."

Myrtle, who was coming back into consciousness, looked up at him hazily; "she certainly did."

Michael closed his eyes and took a deep inhalation of the air and energy swirling around him, exhaling softly before he spoke again: "a deal is a deal. If you give me my daughter, I will leave you bitches alone."

"What happened with the last deal?" Cordelia asked irritated. "You killed Misty."

"No," he disagreed, pointing at his baby in Mallory's arms. " _She_ killed her."

"I don't…"

"Mark my words," he cut in, "if you decide to bother me or my daughter, or step in my way, you will all die _painfully_. It will make Misty's passing look like the fucking flu."

 _I have no choice_ , Cordelia said, tearfully looking at her protégé holding the infant. Mallory sighed sorrowfully, looking down at the baby's pretty blue eyes. They reminded her so much of Misty in the brief period she knew her. At this point, she was starting to get little blonde wisps of hair on her bald head. She was exquisite.

"Mallory," she said, "give him the baby."

"But you said-"

"I _know_ what I said," Cordelia snapped. "Give him the baby."

She relucted in doing so, but Michael held his arms open for his baby daughter, who started to coo and smile up at him as though she were happy to meet him for the first time. Embracing her small body in his arms made his heart feel full, enough to make him shed a jovial tear or two. She was dressed in a plain pink cotton onesie and a small white blanket. She began to coo and laugh even more as he smiled down at her grandly.

"My own father rejected me to my face. My own mother tried to kill me," he said, looking at his daughter as the witches all looked at each other in shock to see such a human side to him. "Your mother is in the nether realms, but _I_ am here. I promise you, from the bottom of my heart and until there isn't a single breath left in my body, I will love, protect and cherish you… Melanie… Macaria."

The witches looked on, and at each other, at the spectacle before them. He held the baby upright so her chin was on his shoulder, and patted her back with a kiss on her soft, fair cheek. Cordelia looked down in shame, not fully trusting him or the situation. It was all a ruse just to get what he wanted. She knew full well that their lives were at stake – on a grander scale, the world was still in peril.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _Thank you to those who read the first chapter and wrote Reviews! I appreciate it so much. Just a word in here, from this point, I should be getting into the meat of the story. The first two chapters started this story slow but I hope to get to where it's got to be soon._

 _For those curious about the face claim and more about Melanie, visit my Wattpad book of Original Characters an click the chapter under her name!_ _Warning, it does contain some spoilers!_

 _If you enjoy it so far, Follow and Favorite to catch future updates for chapters! See you soon!_


	3. Ch 3 - Death's Peaceful Sleep

**Chapter 3: Death's Peaceful Sleep**

Misty seemed to be asleep for weeks – aside from feeling her soul travelling down to its rightful place, no other sensation came to her. All of her muscles were completely lax and still as her head and back rest upon a bed that felt like a firm cloud. She was still clad in the same nightgown she gave birth in, but it was free of heavy blood stains. She slowly and gradually opened her eyes and looked around, noticing she was not longer at the academy with her Supreme and sister witches – this was the dark, yet cozy part of hell that was claimed by Michael as his domain. A fire crackled in the background, and before she could blink, she saw Michael walking around the bed, looking down at her with a strangely sincere smile.

"I'm seeing you again so soon," he said softly with happiness. Her bright blue eyes looked over and saw that he had a small bunch of flowers. As she tried to slowly sit up, her golden curls framed her diamond-shaped ethereal face, and when she was sitting, she said her first words since waking.

"I know I'm dead," Misty stated emotionlessly.

"I'm so sorry, Misty," he said sincerely, sitting down on the edge of the bed with her and staring into her eyes deeply. "I did not want to cause you pain. Tell me, how do you feel?"

"I… feel better," she said slowly, her deep Southern accent lulling him. "My God, I was in so much pain, I was prayin' for swift death."

He looked at her, putting the small bunch of flowers in her hands; she noticed they were white lilies with a single pink rose in the middle. "She's beautiful, Misty."

"The baby?"

"Yes."

"Cordelia said it was a girl," the swamp witch said, her eyes fixed on the impeccable, lively petals of the flowers Michael gifted her.

"She has your eyes," he said with a smile, caressing her cheek softly and leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth. "She is quite calm. She doesn't cry very much. She seems very happy."

Misty smiled at the thought of her baby girl, looking genuinely happy despite her soul's condition. She gently touched him on the sleeve of his black dinner jacket and began to speak; "d-do you have her with you? Can I see her?"

He sighed sadly and shook his head; "no."

She was taken aback by this – "why?"

"She is too young to travel down here," he said. "She was just born two weeks ago, after all."

"But… she is half of what you are, Michael," she challenged. "Why can't she? I wanna see my baby."

"You will see her," her husband said, touching her soft blonde curls. "Don't worry."

She couldn't believe it – her baby, half-human and half-demon, couldn't accompany her father to the underworld just yet. Had she survived such a brutal ordeal of giving birth to her daughter, she would have seen her and maybe even raised her up on earth with Michael. She even speculated that maybe being contained in the underworld half the year would be null and void had she survived and was able to raise the baby with him. Alas, she didn't. She was stuck in this nether realm for all eternity. She wouldn't be able to see her daughter grow, nor hold and cuddle her. She wouldn't be there to mentor and guide her, nor teach her how to use her powers, whatever of which she was to develop. She wouldn't be able to pass on her love of Stevie Nicks and teach her how to twirl with a shawl. It was depressing.

"Is there a way I can come back?" Misty asked.

"I am not bringing you back up to the mortal coil with me," he said to her frankly, but still sensitive to the fact it could potentially upset her. It did – her face turned into a squirm as if to let a cry out.

"I want to go back," she cried. "I'm better, I promise… I don't wanna be here! I wanna see my baby! _Please_ let me! I know you can!"

"Misty," he cooed, holding her close and letting her cry on his shoulder. He rocked with her in his arms slowly, shushing her softly to spare her emotional sensitivity. "I have never told you this, but… I have plans for this world."

She kept crying softly, her whines turning to sobs as he continued to speak to her.

"The world we know now will be…obsolete," he said. "I was brought to this earth to create _radical_ change. In the meantime," he let her go and looked into her eyes as he procured a handkerchief and wiped her tears, "I need you to be in the safety of the underworld."

Misty continued to whine, and thought for a minute: "wouldn't I be safe with _you_ instead?"

"You _are_ safe with me, my love. That is why you are down here," he said to her. "Don't you trust me?"

She was silent, which prompted him to say something.

"I don't want anything to happen to you," he said. "With what I plan, it's likely that could happen if you were to come with me to the mortal coil at this moment."

She sighed – "do you promise?"

"On my soul, Misty," he replied with a smile.

She nodded, a nonverbal symbol of her putting her trust in him and his promise: "what is her name?"

"Melanie Macaria," he replied.

"Melanie," Misty repeated with a nod of approval. "I like the sound of that. Who has her right now?"

"Oh… Mrs. Mead does," Michael said.

"Your…"

"Yes. She is like a mother to me, one of the only people I never stopped trusting," he clarified.

"I won't be replaced, will I?" Misty asked Michael.

"Absolutely not," he replied. "You will _always_ be her mother, and when I retrieve your soul to unite our family, it will still be that way."

"Will Melanie remember me?"

"Oh yes," Michael said. "She _will_ know you're her mother."

"That… makes me feel a bit better."

"I need to go for now, my love, but I will visit with you down here soon. Please, rest…" He put his hand over her abdomen and patted gently. "You've been through so much."

* * *

Michael burst awake as his soul reentered his body on the floor of the living room. He was staying in an apartment provided to him by a local Satanic church as tribute. They discovered him to be the Antichrist and were literally kissing his feet. One particular unassuming member, an older woman in her late fifties to early sixties, even provided connections with Kineros Robotics in Silicon Valley to create a true-to-life AI replica of Miriam Mead, who was still in her place, rocking baby Melanie in her arms while she waited for Michael to return from the underworld. She saw him fully conscious and smiled.

"Ah, you're back!" she said. "Melanie's been such a good baby."

 _It's so hard to believe she's an android_ , he thought. She was an exact likeness of the woman who took him in as her own son just a year or two before when he was still physically a teenager. A former cardinal of the Church of Satan alongside founder Anton Lavey, she discovered him living alone in a hallowed house in Los Angeles amongst spirits, even those of his biological family; the father who rejected him to his face, and the mother who tried to kill him. There also dwelled the spirits of his half-sister, who never interacted with him, and the baby twin brother he devoured in utero. Miriam was the one that fateful night who offered him the heart of a virgin to consume; one that she herself kidnapped and found trusting enough to accept a ride from her. Michael looked at her features, remembering Satanic grace at the dinner table and bedtime prayers to the Prince of Darkness – she was short in stature, heavy-set, and eternally in her late-fifties with a black, slick pixie cut, deep blue eyes, and overall rough around the edges. She was not the kind of person anyone wanted to encounter in a dark alleyway and expect to escape unscathed, or alive for that matter.

"Thank you for taking care of her while I was gone," he said with a heavy breath, sitting on his knees and looking up at her and the cooing baby girl.

"I could have sworn she got her eyes from you," Miriam said happily.

"She gets them from my wife," Michael said with a chuckle as he stood up.

Miriam stood up from the rocking chair and kissed Melanie's forehead, following him subserviently into the bedroom she shared with the baby's bassinet, which was generously donated from a Satanic congregation member who killed her own baby as commitment to the church. Baby Melanie was put in and covered with a dark red silk blanket, and she went fast asleep, out like a light. Michael blew a kiss to his sleeping daughter before coming back out to the living room with Miriam, who sat across from the sofa in the rocking chair she was in before.

"So… you have a wife," she said.

"Yes."

"What is her name?"

"Misty."

"Where did you get married? When did you get married?" She sounded systematic, but then he remembered she was an android who needed to be told the event, so it could be stored in her memory.

"We married last October in the underworld," he replied.

"The underworld? How did she get down there, and did you go there by what you did just now?"

"Yes," Michael said. "I…had to take her down with me, but it wasn't without a selling point. I remember I lured her to the old cabin she lived in. I even fixed her old boombox she treasured so much."

"That is so special and kind of you," she replied.

"She loves Stevie Nicks," Michael mused, staring off into space. "She has… long, blonde curly hair… beautiful blue eyes, she is a little tall, slender… though when she was with child, she was _really_ big."

"Is she wicked?" Miriam asked. "Did she devote her life to Satan?"

Michael giggled and shook his head: "no, actually. She is quite the opposite."

"Why did you want to be with someone who didn't sell their soul?"

"Because she is my balance," he replied. "She is the greatest light I have ever met… well, _you_ aside. I hate to keep her in the underworld, and I did not want for her to die so painfully, but she needs to be protected from what I plan to do."

"It is time that you do what you were put on this earth for," Miriam said encouragingly, leaning forward to meet Michael's gaze.

"Oh yes," he said. "I told those bitches that hurt you, that if they gave me Melanie, I wouldn't harm them, but I _never_ let a wrong go unpunished. They will all suffer immensely."

"The world is yours," Miriam said with a nod.

"Not quite," he said with a nod, "but I do appreciate your encouragement." He sighed. "To think, those bitches would deprive me of my own _flesh and blood_ … and Cordelia has the gall to say _I_ have no humanity. What about _her_? She was keeping Melanie from me, purposely. She already had a death wish for getting in my way, and she only has made it worse for her and her witches." He paused, and Miriam's full attention was on the man she called her son.

His voice cracked, and the anger just seethed right through to the surface. Everything he tried to hold in, just erupted like a volcano; "My biological mother tried to kill me, and my father abandoned and outright _rejected_ me. To my _face_. My grandmother killed herself because of me. She died, and her spirit wanted _nothing_ …NOTHING to do with me!" He paused for a minute, gulping to suppress a sob. "I wanted to be like my father, Tate. I remember what he said like it was a few seconds ago. Dr. Harmon was there. He _believed_ in me and wanted to help me change and become good… he said to me, 'you didn't spring from my nutsack,'" Michael hissed tearfully. "He said, 'even I couldn't create something as monstrous or as evil as you.' I'll be FUCKING DAMNED my daughter EVER has to go through what I went through…"

He broke down sobbing, whining softly. Miriam was not programmed to feel complex emotions, yet sympathy loaded into her internal drive. She switched seats from the rocking chair to the sofa where he was sitting and patted his shoulder to try and console him.

"To think that _bitch_ would have allowed that to happen," he finished. "I'm going to fucking set this world on _fire_ , and they will _all_ go down in ashes along with it."

* * *

Meanwhile, in Michael's realm of the underworld, Misty remained on the bed her body transported to upon her death. She was turned on her side, facing the crackling fireplace in the dark room that she would share with him when they spent those first six months together. This was the very same room and setting her baby girl was conceived; dark, dim, warm, cozy, yet depressing. She would not be able to actually meet her baby until Michael kept up with his promise to return her to the mortal coil. She hoped that deep down, the deal regarding her binding to the underworld would be null and void with what his plans entailed.

Then, she had an idea – _the black mirror_ , she thought.

She slowly rose to her feet from the bed, working toward sitting off the side edge where Michael had sat and left flowers for her before taking her time to stand up. When her back and stance was erect, she took a deep breath and walked out of the bedroom, making her way down the hallway, past the large square fire pit in the middle of the main foyer. She reached the dining room, and before making her way toward the broken wall with the black mirror exposed, she turned the dial on the stereo so that it was on, and the first few notes of _Leather and Lace_ began to play. When Stevie began to sing, Misty felt more at ease:

" _Is love so fragile_ _  
_ _And the heart so hollow_ _  
_ _Shatter with words_ _  
_ _Impossible to follow_ _  
_ _You're saying I'm fragile, I try not to be_ _  
_ _I search only for something, I can't see_ …"

She closed her eyes, standing in front of the mirror and using the same motion Michael taught her; it was akin to lifting a window shade to let light in. Once she did that, she leaned in to peer into the glass, trying to get a glimpse of anything that would stick out to her. She tried to focus, whispering to herself.

"Lemme see my baby girl," she muttered. "Please. A-And make it so she sees me, too."

The mirror obeyed her command and started to distort before her, formulating a crystal-clear image of a baby girl of two weeks old in a dark silk red blanket nestled comfortably in a bassinet. She was clearly asleep, and Misty's heart nearly melted with how cute she was. Suddenly, she saw baby Melanie stir and gurgle before opening her big blue eyes, almost as if Misty were actually there for her to look up at.

"Hey, Melanie," the hell-bound mother told her baby through the mirror. "I'm your momma."

Melanie seemed to smile even more, as if she knew full well who Misty was without having ever met her. Her giggling and cheerful babbling only grew louder. The swamp witch noticed through the mirror that she was even clapping, and her babbling sounded more like she was trying to speak.

"Yes, baby girl," she said, getting tears in her eyes. "I'm here. I'm not actually _with_ you, but I can _see_ you." Her pitch raised itself a bit to pure baby talk; "ain't you the sweetest thing I ever seen! You're so 'dorable! You're happier than a dead pig in the sunshine, ain't you?!"

Melanie's laughing grew louder and deeper, squealing enough to wake Miriam out of her bed and move toward the bassinet to pick her up. Misty watched through the black mirror at the pixie-haired older woman who picked the laughing baby up and kissed her cheek. Then, she saw Michael come into the picture, it seemed like he was asking Miriam something, so Misty tried to make it out.

" _What is she laughing for? She was sleeping,"_ he asked.

" _I don't know,"_ Miriam said. _"Want to try and quiet her down? I don't mind that she is happy, but it is time to sleep."_

Misty watched through the mirror as Michael was handed Melanie, who went from hysterical happiness to the exact opposite, crying so loud it pierced her own ears down in the nether realms. She watched him, taken aback by his daughter's extreme screaming and crying, possibly denoting her displeasure at being taken away from the peaceful vision of her deceased mother. He even tried to cuddle her close to him, but her screaming only got louder. It was like a banshee, shrill and unforgiving. Misty intuited that baby Melanie was in fact angry now.

" _Sh… quiet…_ " he ordered. _"Please, be a good girl and sleep, like you always do_."

The baby's volume silenced for a moment, before the banshee screams started up again full force. Miriam blocked her ears.

" _I can't take it! Do something!_ " she begged.

Misty watched Michael hold her and support her neck with one arm as he raised his hand over Melanie's face. Hearing him clearly, he said " _Mors est in somno pacis_."

With that, baby Melanie was once again out like a light. Yet it haunted Misty to see. It appeared like she was in the very sleep of death, and she teared up, feeling her heart start to shatter. She could even sense Miriam's worry as she struggled to watch.

" _What did you just do?"_ she asked. " _You didn't_ kill _her, did you?"_

" _No,"_ he replied calmly. _"She is just in a_ very _deep sleep."_

" _She'll wake up though, right?"_ Miriam questioned.

" _Yes, she will. She just will be in this deep sleep for the night. I did not hurt her. This deep sleep may be like that which you find in death, but she is_ very _much alive,"_ he explained, handing back Miriam a deeply-sleeping Melanie. _"Put her in the bassinet. I will see you in the morning."_

As Misty collapsed to the floor in tears, the mirror went back to the image of a blank, ebony, shiny surface so she was unable to see anymore. She knew that one day she would meet her baby, but Michael damn near gave her a heart attack with that charm he used to make her sleep. _One day, I'm gonna meet you,_ she thought, _I'll never let go_.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _Third chapter is up! I hope you guys enjoy where it is going. I apologize for the slow start but again, depending on where inspirations take me (from the show and my own ideas as well), I hope to get the ball rolling. Be patient!_

 _Also, some trivia! The charm Michael uses translates in English to "_ death is the dream of peace _" from Latin. It was the only translation I could get when creating the chapter's namesake spell._

 _If you like this story, leave a Review to share what you think or any ideas you may have! Also, Favorite and Follow to get notified of new updates!_


	4. Ch 4 - Destruction

**Chapter 4: Destruction**

 _October 2020_

This was it – a year and a half in the making. Michael, the son of the Devil himself, had made so much progress for his plans for world domination and destruction. He not only wanted to wipe the slate clean, inspired by the two masterminds at Kineros Robotics who were part of the Cooperative, an enigmatic world order disguised under the popular name "Illuminati". He wanted to rid the world of witches. He already succeeded in killing his former classmates at the Hawthorn Academy; he was instructed that a massive nuclear war would wipe out not just the rest of the world who couldn't be saved, but the witches who took the lives of his allies. He, along with Miriam, succeeded in massacring a huge portion of the student body at Miss Robicheaux's, and managed to wipe Zoe and Queenie's souls from existence. Only Cordelia, Myrtle, Supreme-elect Mallory, Coco, Madison, and Stevie were left, in addition to the Voodoo Queen Dinah Stevens, who helped him by breaking the protection aura around the school just before his attack.

Of course, it went without saying that Misty was still trapped in hell. Michael made every effort to visit her weekly. She was not alone all of the time, however – Nan, her friend from Miss Robicheaux's, whose soul was kept by Papa Legba, often stayed with her to keep her company. There were a few times in that year and a half where Michael stayed with the two just to see his wife. He would procure gifts from the mortal coil and give them to her down in hell – flowers, exquisite jewelry articles, silk shawls, dresses, perfumes, even chocolates. Some days, she was happy to see him. Other days, the excitement didn't show.

During one of his trips to the underworld, Michael excused himself quietly and put the wall back together where he broke it down to reveal the black mirror. It was covered over, and when Misty asked why, he simply said to her: "Trust me. You do _not_ want to see the world as it is now."

Really, he just wanted to prevent her from seeing that all of her sister witches were dead but a few, and he certainly did not want her seeing the world going up in flames. The last time he visited her in hell before the events in October 2020, he told her, "the time is coming where you may see our daughter." That shut her right up about the black mirror and the need to see her.

By this point in her development, Melanie had the appearance of a four-and-a-half-year-old girl. It did not scare Michael one bit, as he had also aged rapidly when he was younger. He was more taken aback by the pace at which she grew – when he himself was four or five years old, he aged ten years overnight – Melanie, on the other hand, looked to blend more into her age group like a normal child. Had she been purely demonic, like her father, her aging would have been more rapid, but because she was half human, it was drastically slower and more "normal". Miriam went into her crib one morning to get her for breakfast and she saw the difference before her eyes. She even went as far as to think a child came in and replaced the baby she had been helping to nurture for the last year and a half. Melanie was exquisite with a diamond-shaped face, bright blue eyes, fair skin and golden hair that curled gracefully to her shoulders. When Miriam first saw her that fateful morning, she noticed that the baby clothes she was dressed in were partially torn and tattered, while tight and secure in other areas. Michael had been away on a meeting with the Cooperative, and when he returned, he made sure that certain provisions, like clothing, were taken care of for his daughter.

Michael did not even have to rise through the ranks of the Cooperative to become a high-ranking agent. In fact, his father, the Devil, set him up. Considering all of the members had signed their souls away to his possession, Michael too held dominion over their souls. In fact, Miriam suggested that in this "new world", he was like the King, and Melanie in turn was the de-facto Princess. If he were to bring Misty back to stay in the mortal coil for good, she would be the Queen. If anything, they would be more powerful than even the Cooperative. It was decided that due to this high-ranking status, he would have unlimited clearance, with identification, to all of the outposts. These were locations around the globe guaranteed and reserved for the top 1% who paid their way in to survive the fallout. Michael also had the authority to interview and select the survivors of which would be perfect to go to even more sophisticated sanctuaries.

* * *

It was a sunny day in October of that year that he and the Cooperative settled on to start dropping bombs on most major cities across the world. Michael was left with the chance to contact three major world leaders with nuclear power to get the plans in motion, but at this moment, he was sitting with Jeff and Mutt, the two masterminds who built a true-to-life AI replica of Miriam in their robotics lab in a secluded chamber in the Cooperative headquarters. In front of them were ten screens – the two managed to hack into random security cameras in select cities, but the other half of the screens were aerial views of black jet planes set for the job, carrying the nukes on board. In the room with them were Miriam herself and Miss Wilhelmina Venable, former employee of the robotics company who was assigned an outpost out in California. In her hand, she held Melanie's who was standing up straight and watching the screens with the rest of them. She had some idea what was going on – she was not stupid by any means despite her very young age.

"Alrighty!" Jeff squealed with excitement with a single clap. "The point of no return! W-Where are we gonna bomb first, boss?"

Michael turned his head slowly to his subservient – "let's think, now. Who do I want to be rid of first?"

Mutt and Jeff both looked at each other and then to their master: "uh, New Orleans?"

"Bingo," Michael said. "Push the button."

"Are you sure _you_ don't want that honor?" Mutt asked. "It's the first bomb."

"I'm giving you a direct order," he replied. "Do it."

Mutt obediently nodded and lifted the heavy plastic lid off the button labelled with the city's name, pressing his palm into the red dome. With the aerial view on that camera, the little entourage in the room started clapping, all except Venable and little Melanie, at the sight of the nuke being dropped in the heart of Decatur Street and obliterating everything and everyone in its path. When he saw the mushroom cloud form after the flash, Michael's mouth slowly turned into a smile of gratification. _No more witches, no more Cordelia_ , he thought, _justice has been served_.

"Aw boss, where next?!" Jeff asked with excitement. "This is great! We are blowing these fuckers up and wiping the slate _clean_!"

"Los Angeles is next," Michael instructed clearly.

Jeff pushed the button on his side, which was labelled as such with the city's name. The two helmet-haired entrepreneurs squealed in excitement to see a security camera they hacked into depict citizens getting out of their vehicles and running for dear life down the street away from the direction of the bomb. Some people even jumped to their deaths from high buildings. Melanie took special watch of this screen and said the first thing she said the entire time being there.

"Dad?"

"You're to address me as _Father_ in front of associates," Michael instructed, turning to face his daughter. "Now, what is it, darling?"

"Sorry," she said. "Why are we ruining cities? Why are we killing people? What did they do?"

"This is all part of the process, little girl," Jeff chuckled. "Make a brand new world. Your dad owns it now. It's _his_ , and one day could be _yours_."

"But are they bad people?" Melanie asked.

"In this world, there is a fair mix, dear," Michael told his little girl. "It's all about removing the scum of the earth to pave way for new things to grow. We are in the process of creating a whole new world."

Those last three words prompted both Jeff and Mutt to break out into song, sloppily chanting the tune from Aladdin:

" _A whole new world…_

 _A dazzling place I never knew…_

 _But when we're way up here_ -"

"Stop it," Michael ordered, raising his hand and using the influence of concilium to silence them. He heard Melanie giggle in the background at their tomfoolery, shaking his head and giving his next order. "Mutt, _you_ blow up Hong Kong. Jeff, _you_ get Moscow."

Both buttons were pressed at the exact same time – Mutt and Jeff watched the explosions from aerial camera view on the corresponding screens and exclaimed as though they were watching the Super Bowl and their team was winning.

"OH MAN!" Mutt shouted. "Whoo!"

"Talk about shitting on everything. Hong Kong got at least a million people," Jeff cackled.

"Change those screens up there," Michael ordered. "Where we exploded LA and New Orleans. Make those London and Paris."

"Aw, overseas action!" Mutt said like an excited child.

"Father," Melanie began with concern, "where are we going after all this? There's nowhere left!"

"Remember the outposts," Michael reminded her, "they're all over the world. Bora Bora, Texas has one, also California. Miss Venable administers that one."

"You ask _way_ too many questions for a little girl," Venable said. "I think it's time for lunch."

"I don't want lunch," the girl said like a spoiled brat.

"Or we can read a story?" Miriam suggested with a maternal smile, stepping in.

"No, I don't want that either. I want to _stay_ ," the little girl affirmed firmly.

Michael, rolling his eyes, spun around in his chair and looked at Melanie. "Come here."

Melanie let go of Venable's hand and walked toward her father, taking a deep, huffy breath as she adjusted her plain black shiny headband that complimented her dark purple dress. One of her golden curls was caught unevenly under the band, and he reached to fix it as he spoke to her.

"Melanie Macaria," he said, staring into her eyes as they turned their true demonic black. "Until you are old enough to give orders, you are _subject_ to orders. That means, if Miss Venable or Grandma tells you to do something, you do it as though _I_ am telling you to do it. Do I make myself clear?"

The stubborn little girl nodded reluctantly. "Fine."

* * *

Melanie had each of her hands held by Miriam to her left and Venable to her right. Despite being so young, she was wise beyond her years and intelligent. She knew deep down that what her father was doing was wrong on every level imaginable, but she could not properly express this sentiment. What if her father were to be angry with her? What would the Cooperative say about their "little princess" rebelling over what the plan was for world destruction and domination?

Suddenly, she began to feel different, as though her thoughts were not her own. Trying to trace the source, she looked around at the different Cooperative agents in their all-black uniforms and silver-plated masks for anonymity. It was not from there. She listened a little more and her head shot to her right, looking up at Venable with a sour, disappointed face as she could almost hear her thoughts.

 _What a little brat. I'd love nothing more than to cane her on the ass for acting like that. Who does this little bitch think she is?_

"I can hear every word you're saying!" Melanie cried. "Let my hand go!"

Miriam's hand also released from her surrogate granddaughter's – "Melanie? What's gotten into you? Do I need to get your father involved?"

"You may, because Miss Venable wants to hit me with her cane!" the little girl said, pointing her little finger in an accusatory manner up at her father's subordinate.

"I never said that!" Venable snapped, pointing the tip of her cane at Melanie. "You take that back! You don't accuse people of things they didn't do!"

"I _heard_ you! You use a cane for a crooked spine, not for hitting kids!"

Suddenly, all of the attention in the hallway was toward Venable by other Cooperative employees. They all turned their silver-plated faces toward the woman clad in light purple, her dark auburn hair in a neat quiffed ponytail, leaning on her other side with her signature black cane. Only a few people knew of her scoliosis in the organization – Melanie was never told why she used a cane to walk. She was speechless, looking at the little girl with anger in her eyes.

 _How the hell did she know I have scoliosis?_

" _I don't know_ how I know. I _just know_ ," Melanie said in response, reading Venable's very soul without any effort.

Miriam, an AI android, was even shaking, unable to compute what was going on. Instead, she tried to lighten the mood; "would you like some candy, Melanie?"

"You're not _serious_ right now, are you?" Venable snapped, gritting her teeth behind closed lips.

"She is," Melanie smirked. "I am, too. I say, be careful what you think. I can hear everything." She turned to Miriam and nodded, "and _yes_ , I want candy."

The three made their way down the hallway further to the cafeteria of the underground headquarters. Miriam was able to procure a coin from a hidden slot in her arm to give to her surrogate granddaughter. Melanie indeed took it, but she had her sights set on a cookie sitting on the edge of an unattended lunch tray. She giggled mischievously and ran toward the table with the tray, snatching the cookie and stuffing it in her small mouth before anyone could notice. However, she jumped when she heard Venable snap at her.

"Melanie! Spit that cookie out _right now_!" Her voice seemed to radiate through the cafeteria, and the little girl turned around, having swallowed half the cookie.

"It's too good," she said, her mouth half-full.

"Darling, you can't take things that don't belong to you," Miriam said, walking over toward her and leaning down.

Swallowing the cookie, Melanie blurted: "my father promised me and said I can have whatever I want. If I want something, I get it."

"You aren't getting _any_ candy now," her surrogate grandmother said.

"NO!" Now, the young girl was on the verge of a tantrum, like any typical child.

"Come on," Miriam said, forcefully grabbing the girl's hand. She then turned to Venable, who looked at the two sourly; "I'll see you later, Miss Venable."

"LET ME GO!" Melanie shouted, stomping her feet and using her free hand to try and hit Miriam. She could not feel anything, and therefore did not express any sign that she was in pain from Melanie's relatively hard budging.

"You're not getting candy until after dinner," she said a bit more firmly.

"I'M TELLING MY DAD! HE WON'T BE HAPPY!"

Miriam ignored the girl's continuous beats to the arm that gripped her little hand. She even glanced down in horror and moved along quickly with her as the little girl tried to literally bite the "flesh" of her robotic arm like a rabid, angry wolf. It took them a while to finally reach what looked to be holding cell-styled bedrooms for employees who took an extended stay at the Cooperative headquarters. Miriam opened the door to one of them and with all of her advanced strength, tossed the furious, spoiled little girl into the room, locking it shut in front of her.

"GET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! NOW!" Melanie screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Not until dinner! You're going to learn how to _obey_!" the android replied sharply.

* * *

That night, at around 8:30PM, Melanie was still in the holding room. She was sitting on the bed, and even though she had dinner slid under a hole in the door for her on a tray, she was not hungry. She had calmed down significantly, however. It was the moment that she felt like she almost heard footsteps coming down the hallway that she jerked up, her back erect as if she were a soldier standing at full attention. The door seemed to open by itself, revealing her father. Michael looked as though his hair was neatly combed just before entering, his golden mane falling on his shoulders. He was clad in a black leather jacket, a red velvet scarf, and black pants complete with a pair of black boots to the knees. His chiseled face was stern and authoritative, looking at his young daughter sitting on the bed.

"Melanie," he began.

"Dad, you'll never guess what-"

"I think I _can_ ," he said. His eyes averted to the tray of food still on the floor. "You haven't touched your food."

"I'm not hungry for anything," Melanie said, watching her father take a seat right next to her on the edge of the bed.

"I know I said to you that you can have anything you want," he told her, "but you cannot just take things, or accuse people of things they didn't do."

Melanie's brow furrowed, her bright blue eyes staring up at him – "what? No! I didn't accuse Miss Venable. She thought those things."

"Wait, what?"

"She _thought_ them. I _heard_ them. She thought about hitting my butt with her cane," Melanie explained.

"Miss Venable wouldn't _dare_ lay a hand on you. If she did, she'd have bigger fish to fry than your behavior," Michael said firmly.

"Dad, you fried all the fish in the world," Melanie said sarcastically. "There are no more fish left."

Michael shook his head, resisting the urge to laugh at his daughter's quick wit to keep his authoritative, fatherly tone: "well, that is right but… she wouldn't do that to you."

"You don't believe me!" she exclaimed. "I knew you wouldn't."

"It isn't that I don't, but I also know how young children like you act when you're wrong," Michael said. "Don't do it again."

"But dad-"

"But _nothing_ ," he replied sternly.

Suddenly, Melanie got a sense of something as she was instructed to not speak further about the incident from that day with Venable and Miriam. In her mind's eye, she could picture being head to toe in black protective gear with a gas mask and helmet covering her entire head. In her vision, she was holding hands with a much taller figure who showed a fellow guard, also in a suit meant to protect from radiation. The one she was holding hands with showed what looked to be an ID card and the guard let the two into the structure immediately. It prompted her to say something, just letting it flow.

"You're taking me away," she muttered.

Michael looked down at her: "what did you say?"

"You're taking me with you. W-We're gonna need to wear suits, dad. It's bad out there."

 _She's right_ , he thought. _Damn, she's got what I have… or is it something different? Either way…_ He just nodded slowly, looking down at her with amazement and bewilderment.

"I…did plan to… take you with me to the outposts," Michael said, confirming her vision as true. He got off the bed and got on one knee on the floor, looking up at his daughter. "How did you know that?"

"I don't know," she replied. "I _just know_."

"Who told you?" he asked.

"No one told me," Melanie answered. "I saw it. Just now. I think _you_ know, though."

"What?"

"What is this? Why can I see and hear things?"

He stood up and looked down at her, sighing: "you're too young to know just yet. I will tell you when you are older."

"But…"

"But _nothing_ ," he said, signaling her to stop speaking about it. "I'm taking you with me, yes. I think it would be a good experience for you."

"I'm really young," Melanie remarked.

"All the better," he smiled. "You're my daughter. I am a head agent with the Cooperative. One day, you may even take my place. Why not give you a taste of the experience?"

"But what if we die?"

"We won't." He looked over at the tray on the floor, sighing. "You should eat before you go to bed."

Melanie turned her head to look at the food: "what is it, anyways?"

Her father took the tray up to the bed and sat on the other side of it. The little girl peered and noticed a strange-looking sandwich paired with a small portion of chopped carrots and a small carton of milk with a straw in its wrapper. She took the sandwich, and curiously bit into it. She sucked her cheeks in and tasted a sweet bitterness to the meat: "beef brain?"

"It's good for you," Michael said encouragingly.

She shrugged and continued to eat the sandwich until it was all gone. Then, she moved onto the carrots before washing it all down with the milk provided. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve when finished, and he took away the tray as she pulled the covers down on the bed. He proceeded to tuck her in, putting a hand on her forehead and drawing her eyes up to him.

"We leave in a few days. Our first outpost is overseas," he said. "It's wise to start packing tomorrow."

"Alright," she said with a sigh, closing her eyes. "Goodnight, dad."

"Goodnight, my darling."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _New chapter is up! I hope you enjoyed._

 _ **Just a little note about Melanie:** it may be a bit confusing, but here is a breakdown on her aging. She is actually a year and a half old in this chapter, but she physically looks like a 4-year-old and has to cognition of an 8-9 year old. Given her lineage, this is a nod to the rapid aging her father also experienced. It goes without saying she is very intelligent and knows about most things that go on around her. For those curious, her face claim in this story is Alyvia Alyn Lind, which you will see in my Wattpad publication devoted to my OCs. _

_Please leave your feedback in the form of a Review, and be sure to Favorite and Follow for future update notifications on this story as well as other stories I come out with!_


	5. Ch 5 - Outpost 3

**Chapter 5: Outpost 3**

 _October 2021_

For the entirety of the year following the nuclear holocaust organized by Michael and the Cooperative, he and Melanie travelled across the world, each destination being a single outpost where survivors were kept and housed in luxury compounds. Most of them were in Europe, Asia and the South Pacific, but there were one or two situated in the Middle East and the Indian subcontinent. There were also some in the United States, including Outpost 3 in the middle of California. It also happened to be an elite boarding school for young men before it became property of the Cooperative. Alas, all but three outposts no longer had living inhabitants, as they either died of starvation or the victims of attack by feral cannibals. The latter of these they had come across in their travels by land; all they were, were just survivors of the initial blast but had physical symptoms of advanced cancers from the radiation and were desperate for any source of nourishment as a last attempt to hang onto dear life.

Upon landing in California from a visit to Bora Bora, an island with one of the only surviving outposts remaining in the world, Michael and Melanie took a three-day break in one of the sanctuaries. This was just enough time for the agents working there to procure a carriage with two horses, as well as new anti-radiation suits for he and his daughter. For Melanie, this trip halfway around the globe was quite an ordeal, and it didn't occur to her just how dangerous it was. Now, she was two years of age, but appeared to be between six or eight years old, with the mentality of someone the age of twelve. It was a very lonely trip for her, as well – Miriam wasn't with her, but she was glad Miss Venable was not along for the trip. As for making friends and social interaction, the little girl tried to socialize but was limited for several reasons; one, her father instructed her not to make friends with the survivors; two, there were none close to her age; three, whenever she did try to interact with them, they were taken aback, intimidated by how eloquent she was for such a young girl. In fact, Michael made sure that his adoptive mother had certain memories de-programmed for her protection; being one of the guards at Outpost 3, their next destination, she had to be sharp and quick to administer her duties without question. The last thing that would be tolerated was pondering on memories of the little girl she considered a granddaughter, and the man she took in as her own son.

When they left the sanctuary in the horse and carriage, they had travelled for nearly two hours before stopping to get a read on how much further they had to go. Michael and Melanie were both in fully-protective black suits complete with helmets and oxygen masks. He got off the front seat and released the reins on the dark-colored horses. Once his feet hit the ground he looked into the window at Melanie, who nodded to signify that she was doing alright. He took out a device that looked like a reader and turned the dial to show how much more they had to travel to get to the outpost. This was a helpful contraption, as due to the blasts and radiation, the air was foggy with a toxic mist, not a road sign to be seen for miles and miles.

A distressing sound caught his attention. It drew nearer and nearer. It sounded human, yet inhuman at the same time; to Michael, it was the definition of suffering compressed in a single sound. It was a mixture of deep sobbing and wheezing, like an advanced stage of lung cancer or some severe respiratory condition. Michael, through the goggles on the mask, looked over. Melanie from inside the carriage saw the spectacle as well and even took the liberty of stepping out of the carriage for a better look.

It was a woman with two children, the smaller of which lay lifeless in her lesion-covered arms. Both youngsters were covered in discolored tumors, and the woman's hair was stringy and patchy, as though she was severely affected by alopecia or some other cause of drastic hair loss. Only half of her brown tresses remained intact to her scalp, whereas the rest was flaking off, bloody, and tinted with dark brown and purple lesions. Michael realized after a few moments of staring at them that the child in his mother's arm had been dead for some time. Melanie, seeing that they were children, like her, tried to meet them halfway as they approached the two suited individuals, but her father grabbed her by the arm before she could; his grip was so hard that she thought her small arm was going to fall off.

"Help….help…help m-me," the woman wheezed, sobbing. "H-Have mercy…mercy!"

"What is your name?" Melanie asked through the mask, her voice distorted.

"G-Gloria…"

"How old are-"

" _Melanie! Be quiet_!" Michael snapped, his voice sounding like a demonic growl through the mask. He looked at the mother and the surviving son, who looked as though he were clinging to the very last thread of life. He was wheezing heavily, struggling to breathe in the toxic air that surrounded them.

"I…have no strength," the mother said. "Show mercy… put m-my son…" She coughed violently, spewing up blood into the toxic terrain, "he's suffering… g-get him… out of his m-misery… please!"

The woman's sobbing only grew more intense, and Melanie was so touched by the scene that she felt tears falling down her cheeks slowly underneath the gas mask. _She's so close to death herself_ , she thought, _please dad, put her out of her misery. She won't suffer anymore_.

"I cannot help you," Michael said unapologetically through the gas mask. "You aren't long for the world, anyways."

" _P-Please_!" the mother cried out. "Little… child…" Melanie looked back and saw that the mother let her dead child rest on the barren, dead grass on his side, stiff as a board. "Y-You have a child… you…"

"She is _my_ child," Michael said.

"Dad, can we-"

"No, Melanie," he said sternly, assuming his place as her father in front of the apocalyptic survivors. "Let's go. They are not deserving of salvation."

Melanie's ears were pierced by the cries of abandonment and desperation from the suffering mother and her living son, who was near-death. She continued to cry softly underneath the gas mask out of pure empathy for them – what would it be like in their position? How did that child feel, wheezing on toxic air, his lungs burnt and weary from the very labor of respiration? She could not get the thought nor image out of her head. As they rode away in the carriage, Melanie could almost sense the life escaping the son before it did for the mother.

* * *

It took another hour or two to reach the outpost, and when they did, the two guards, one of which was absurdly tall, looked at Michael's identification card and immediately let him in. Melanie held his hand and followed. They were ushered into what looked to be a chamber – all of the other outposts had them, so Michael and Melanie stood in the chamber and had decontaminant sprayed on their suits before removal. The next step was the main foyer, where Miss Venable, the main administrator in this bunker, stood wearing proper Victorian-styled attire, her dark auburn hair up in a quiffed bun, and her trademark cane resting erect on the floor with the help of her gloved hand. She gave a gracious closed smile to her superior upon his arrival, but then looked at Melanie.

"Glad to see you've arrived safely, Mr. Langdon," he said. "And I see that Melanie has grown like a weed since we last saw each other."

"As am I," he replied with a nod. "Is everyone present here?"

"Oh, yes," Venable said, moving forward down the hall as her cane hit the floor with every step to help her walk. "They all have to be summoned to the common area, but we can arrange for that. In the meantime, you have both had such a _long_ trip in your mission. Take a seat."

Melanie took notice of two girls in plain gray dresses with their hair styled in antenna-like buns on top of their heads in dead center walk past she and her father as they followed Venable to the common room in question. One of them stood out to her, and she immediately got a sense of familiarity looking at her. She had big, square-shaped glasses with black frames, and her eyes were soft and distinctive, dark brown in color. Their eyes locked for a minute, but Melanie could only scratch the surface of what she was sensing off this girl in the gray dress – _there is something on her_ , she thought, _something about to crawl out of her_.

"There are two main classes here," Venable began, walking down the hallway to the common area. "Purples and Grays. Everyone knows their place. Now, consider that there are _three_ castes of inhabitants here. You and your father are Blacks, above even the Purples. Blacks are the Cooperative and the guards also wear Black."

"Purples?" Melanie asked.

"Those worthy of surviving," Venable replied, looking at the little girl, "the elite. They dress in Purple and have private suites, just like you and your father will be shown to. They are the ones who could afford a ticket in here, and there are a few selected because of their… _superior_ genetics. The former who paid their way into an outpost to survive the fallout have contributed to a great cause for which we are all grateful."

"Can _I_ wear purple? I do like the color."

"No."

"Okay…" Melanie sighed. "But what if I dress in black and add purple to my outfit?"

"That's fine, Melanie," Venable said with annoyance, rolling her eyes slightly at all the questions she was asking.

"Hey, w-what about the girls in the gray dresses?"

"Those are our worker ants," Venable said as they entered the common room – it was more like a huge study, and a radio was playing soft music in the background. A fire was going in the hearth, and all of the books on the shelves on the wall neatly lined up. "They are essential to any functioning society. They are here to _serve_ and are grateful for the opportunity. It is that, or the alternatives of cancer, death, and nuclear winter."

"Are they slaves? Do they get money?"

"No, they are _not_ slaves. They do _not_ get money. In return for their service, they are able to be safe in here. Again, it is this, _or_ they die from exposure to radiation or nuclear winter."

Melanie nodded, but then proceeded to let her curiosity help her learn more: "am I the only kid here? Are there other kids? I… I want to meet some kids. I… get lonely."

"You are the only child in residence," Venable said. "My, you ask too many questions for a little girl. You haven't changed a bit."

Michael cut in – "she is getting a taste of the experience. I thought it be a wise idea to take her with me to the outposts around the world and helping me select those worthy of survival."

"A _child_?" Venable asked facetiously. "This is too heavy for anyone of her age to be partaking in."

"She may take my place one day," he added. "This may be your domain, but I am _still_ your superior _by far_." He looked at his daughter and smirked at her, and Venable looked down at her also, trying so hard to stand erect with a crooked spine with her cane supporting her.

"Rules are simple here," she said to the little girl. "Some do not apply to you because you are just a child, but others are as follows. You know by now to call me 'Miss Venable', you probably already know that you cannot leave the outpost and if you do, you aren't allowed back in due to risk of contamination from the radiation, and you take your chances with the pus monsters beyond the gates. We dress in formal attire for dinner, and you _must_ be prompt. There is no excuse for tardiness when you have nothing to do."

Melanie smirked, looking at all of the books lined up neatly in the bookcases along the wall. She nodded, and then looked up at Venable with a creepy sort of confidence any child would not be expected to have: "I think I have _plenty_ to do in here."

"I expect all of the inhabitants of Outpost 3 to be down in this common room by 9pm sharp tonight," Michael said.

"Yes, Mr. Langdon," Venable said obediently. "I will have a servant show you to your suite shortly."

With that, she left the common room. Michael took the opportunity to get down on one knee to meet his daughter at eye level. Her bright blue eyes shined at him in the dim light from the fireplace. He places his hands on the sides of her arms gently and spoke with conviction and authority.

"Melanie," he began. "I have rules for you, too."

"Uh… what?"

"Yes. I have rules for you. One, you are here to help me, _not_ make friends," he told her. "Second, you are _not_ to associate with the Grays. Keep contact limited with even the Purples."

"Why? They're people, too," she wondered with confusion.

 _You are not even fully human_ , Michael thought, _if only you knew your lineage_.

"What? I'm not human?!" she exclaimed, reading his thoughts. He jerked up, standing up and looking down at his daughter, taking his hands off the sides of her arms.

"Don't do that!" he said firmly. "That's not the point here. The point is, you limit your social interactions around here. These are the people for whom we are determining fitness to survive in the sanctuaries. If they grow _too_ close to either of us, that causes problems."

"What kinds of problems?"

"Just…" Michael could not believe how inquisitive his daughter was, and how intelligent she was to ask questions at her very young age. Human two-year-old's could barely speak in full sentences or move right, but Melanie was certainly her father's daughter. "Do what I'm telling you. _Please_ be on your best behavior? For _me_?"

"I'll try," she said.

* * *

After dinner, all of the residents in the outpost were summoned to the common room and were all seated in front of the fire. A few Grays lingered around waiting for commands. Melanie was sitting along with the Purples yet secluded in her own little world in one of the upholstered chairs. In keeping with the Victorian theme of dress and her class distinction, Melanie was dressed in a black taffeta dress with short-puffed sleeves, both of which and the neckline fold were lined with light gray lace. A black sash cinched her straight waist, and underneath were black tights and a pair of simple Mary Janes on her feet. Her hair was tied back with a simple, dark purple ribbon that was nearly black, in a ponytail, but a few shorter gold ringlets framed her diamond shaped face. Sitting the chair, she looked like a porcelain doll staring at everybody.

In her observations, she could see one elderly woman who struggled too much to stay young and hold onto her vitality, a younger man with platinum blond hair and sunglasses that, to Melanie, seemed meek and cowardly. Then, there was an African-American woman with a refined demeanor sitting next to another African-American, a man who, upon hearing his voice in passing, spoke with a noticeable lisp. Like the Gray servant she saw earlier, there was something about this woman that struck her as "familiar" in a strange way. Then, she took notice of a fairly attractive blonde woman in her early forties with had her nose in the air but glanced at Melanie every few seconds; the little girl knew that this woman was curious about her, but she knew that she was not the nicest soul in the place. Again, there was that "familiar" feeling looking at her. Dressed similarly to her was a young girl of mixed race sitting next to a Caucasian male with brown hair and eyes – Melanie knew that these two were romantically involved, but they were not supposed to be. The girl of the duo smiled at her and nodded in her direction, and Melanie smiled back quickly as she heard footsteps coming into the common room.

"Everyone, this is Michael Langdon," Venable said, her voice booming through the space, fitting for someone of her authority. "He is an agent from the Cooperative, here with his daughter, Melanie…" Everyone looked at Melanie, who stared back at them but listened to what was going on. This was the same routine as the other outposts. "Let's welcome them. He has a very important announcement."

She moved to the side and let her superior take over, and Melanie watched him. _Just like all the other_ _outposts with survivors,_ she thought to herself.

"My name is Langdon, and I represent The Cooperative. I won't sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth, as was my travel around the world to the other international outposts. All but three no longer have survivors. This is only one of the three with humans left," he explained. "The other two left are the ones in Bora Bora and just outside London."

"What happened to the people in there?" the blonde woman in her early forties questioned.

"Massacred, or starved to death," Michael said curtly, "which is the same fate that all of you may have."  
"All of us?" the bleach blond-haired man asked, pointing at himself.

"With foresight and precautions, we have a few failsafes. Sanctuaries," Michael announced.

"Sanctuaries?" the white young man with brown hair and eyes asked.

"Yes. They are unique, and suitable for sustaining life. They have security measures far more advanced than the imagination that will prevent overrun," the high-ranking agent explained. "The sanctuaries survive, and the people populating it will survive, so that _humanity_ can survive."

"Wait, what measures?" Venable asked, stepping forward. "How come we were not told?"

"Classified."

"What about the people already there?"

"Also classified."

"Then…?"

"I have been sent here to determine if any of you are fit to join us in the sanctuaries," Michael explained further. "You will each be questioned rigorously in a process called 'cooperation'. From there, I will determine who of you is fit to move on."

Melanie nearly jumped as the woman with the blonde hair blurted crudely: "what is this, the fucking _Hunger Games_? I _paid_ my way in here! That is the _only_ cooperating I'm doing!"

The little girl struggled not to burst out laughing at what she said; she let out a giggle, only to annoy the woman even more.

"What the hell are you laughing at, brat?"

"I wouldn't speak to her that way if I were you," Michael said sternly. "Also, you don't _have_ to sit for questioning."

"And what if we choose not to?" the woman asked rudely.

"Then you _stay_ here and _die_!" he said emphatically.

"I-I go first!" the blond man said, raising his hand. "I volunteer!"

"And so, you shall." Melanie shook her head at the man who volunteered to go first; _what a wimp_ , she thought.

"What if we _don't_ get picked?" the black man with the lisp asked worriedly.

"Not all is lost," Michael said with a false sense of optimism, taking out a clear phial of white pills and holding it up, signaling Melanie to stand up from her seat and walk to be next to him. She took other phials out of his pocket, like she had during visits to other outposts, and passed them out to the survivors slowly as she listened to her father speak: "For those of you who do not make the cut, and the worst-case scenario happens, take one of these pills. Within minutes, you will fall asleep, never to wake up again."

Melanie, like the other times she had passed out cyanide pills to survivors in the other outposts, felt saddened by what the world she had been born into came to. _They survive, and if you don't like them, they stay and die_ , she thought to herself, _what a life that is._

"I look forward to meeting everyone of you," Michael said with a coy closed smile. "You won't be kept waiting. This should only take me a few days." He looked at his daughter and beckoned her over, not giving her a chance to pass out cyanide phials to everyone in the room. "Come, Melanie."

Holding her father's hand, she looked back at the survivors, some of which who looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. Passing by the girl of mixed race, she smiled at her again, but Melanie was able to home in on what her soul was saying: _Does this girl even understand what she is doing? Or being_ made _to do? She can't be more than six, that's so wrong. Making your kid pass out pills to kill you_. She could also hear faint talking as they entered the hallway, but it got louder, an exchange between the elderly woman and the blonde forty-something.

"Smooth move, asking to go first."

"There's an old actor's adage," the elder said, "Go first, or go last."

"You're not going _anywhere_ ," the blonde woman said.

"Are you suggesting he is going to pass me up?"

"He's looking for people to repopulate the Earth, _not_ fill a _bingo hall_ ," the blonde woman snided. "You're ancient!" Melanie, hearing this, dropped her jaw in surprise and giggled.

"For someone with the mental capacity of a three-year-old, fifty-two years of age may seem ancient," the elder replied.

"You were fifty-two when Elvis took his last shit!"

That was it – Melanie died laughing right then and there, howling hysterically and even letting go of her father's hand. Just the way she said it made her lose it. Michael looked down at his daughter, shaking his head.

"You know, none of this is funny," he said casually.

"I can't…" Melanie continued to laugh, even snorting. "I can't… that's hilarious! Did you hear that?"

"No, I didn't." He paused. "What _are_ you laughing at, anyway?"

With a suddenly straight face, Melanie's bright blue eyes widened and sparkled in barely any light at all – "humans are such a joy, aren't they?"

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _A longer chapter! Now we are getting to the main part of the story. Again, my apologies for the slow start and buildup. What will Outpost 3 experience? Of course there will be some differences between my story and the canon, so bear with me!_

 _If you enjoy this, Favorite and Follow it to catch future uploads of chapters, and Reviews with feedback are appreciated! Thank you!_


	6. Ch 6 - Help in Cooperation

**Chapter 6: Help in Cooperation**

"Melanie…"

The little girl was shaken awake that morning, her eyes slowly opening to the sight of her lion-haired father kneeling at her bedside. He was not fully dressed, in fact he had just rolled out of bed himself. He lightly shook her, and she rose from the twin-sized bed put especially for her in the suite reserved for them.

"Hm? It's morning?" _Of course,_ she thought, _I can never tell. These outposts are so dark._

"Yes. Remember, you're helping me with the selections again," he reminded her. "You need to go in the closet. Use your talents to read their souls. You know the drill."

"I hate closets," she groaned.

"I can only see the dark parts of their souls, that which they desperately try to hide," he said. "You can see _anything_ in someone's soul."

Melanie immediately thought of the blonde-haired crude woman, the African-American woman, and the Gray servant she encountered when first arriving. They all were so peculiar, but she could not put her finger on why: "dad?"

"Yes, darling?" He stood up and went to comb his golden tresses before putting on his red scarf to compliment his black suit jacket. She pulled back the covers and her bare feet hit the floor from the rather high bed.

"Did you notice anything…" She thought for a moment, and he looked back at her, "uh, _weird_ , with any of the survivors here?"

Michael thought for a moment and chuckled: "all of them are weird. We've established this."

"No, no," Melanie disagreed. "I mean… I noticed something with… three girls here."

"Who?"

"Uh… one has blonde hair. Yeah, the one who was a jerk last night," Melanie recalled. "One of the Gray servants. Another was that black woman. They all seemed… I don't know. I just… sensed something _strange_."

He smiled curtly and nodded; "we will figure it out. Everyone will be interviewed here. I will review the files myself. You know the drill, that in between each interview, you are to tell me exactly what you sense in their souls. Hold nothing back. You are playing a big role, after all."

Melanie nodded rapidly and obediently: "yes, dad."

* * *

As promised, the man with bleach-blond hair and sunglasses was interviewed first. He was known simply as Mr. Gallant, a thirty-something-year-old former hair stylist from Santa Monica who lived with his affluent grandmother, Evie, who also resided at the outpost. Melanie was in the closet as she heard the interview between he and her father in full. _He's a coward_ , she thought to herself, _I saw it on him when I first encountered him_.

"So, how does this work?" Mr. Gallant questioned.

"I'm not disclosing how you are being graded. There is no rubric," Michael answered, sounding authoritative. "However, anything you may feel will compel rejection may be _exactly_ what I seek, and whatever you may think I am looking for, may not be what I am looking for."

"So… can I curb the system?" _He takes the easy way out_ , Melanie sensed as she heard Mr. Gallant through the closet door, _my dad will kill you, are you crazy_?

Michael's tone sounded more indignant and firmer: "if you lie, try to trick me, or hedge, I _will_ know. The interview will end right then, and I will kill you here myself, painfully." _Dad, are you really going to, though? You haven't killed anyone yet in an interview for such things_ , Melanie thought to herself.

"Understood, sir."

"What is your sexual orientation, Mr. Gallant?" Michael asked, getting a pen with paper ready to take some notes.

"I'm gay, but I did fuck one girl in high school," he answered. "I finished. She did, too. I think she did. Hm…" Melanie could sense him thinking for a moment, "It's harder to tell with them. I am telling _you_ because if you need me to procreate, I can."

"We have techniques of harvesting genetic material from organisms like humans, but we do need a healthy womb to incubate the fetus," Michael informed him, "so your ability to impregnate some _poor girl_ isn't needed, quite frankly."

"Okay…"

"Tell me about the anger inside you," Michael insisted. "Your grandmother."

"Why are you putting those together?"

There was a moment of silence – Melanie even got nervous just thinking whether her father did detect something and have reason to kill him and carry out his threat to make him comply.

"I hate her fucking guts," Mr. Gallant said spitefully. "She wants me to be the 'perfect gay', married with a few Yorkies and a set of Wedgewood dining ware. A goddamn eunuch. That isn't what I am. I'm not even that old, but I am old enough to remember that sucking dick was not just a way to get off, but an act of political rebellion."

"Good," Michael praised. "She has shamed you in the past."

"What do you know?"

"Maybe I have a file with everything there is to know about you, or maybe I am just fishing, but tell me… who are you _really_?"

Mr. Gallant was silent: "are you looking for a confession of sorts?" Melanie nearly laughed but knew she needed to keep her mouth shut to not blow her cover.

"I'm not a priest. Hell, I don't even think there is a God. If there was, why would he destroy the world like this?" Michael asked rhetorically. "The concept of sin does seem a bit outdated. They are merely rules for keeping chaos at bay, yet… in this world, now, chaos has won."

Melanie struggled to listen to Mr. Gallant talking about suburban gay lunches held by his grandmother to meet other wealthy gay men. She listened to how he had a preference for leather, and even had a vision from the past of him walking into a grand dining room with nothing but leather chaps and a matching pageboy cap with a boombox that blared heavy techno music. She almost laughed, but then suddenly, she was distracted and heard slithering. She looked down and felt something long, scaly, and cool wrap itself up on her leg.

" _AHHHHH_!"

As she screamed, she found herself behind Gallant rather than in the closet, and the slithering thing on her leg was gone. Michael's eyes widened at what he had just witnessed. His daughter literally went from being behind the closet door, obscured from Mr. Gallant's view, to being right behind the interviewee, screaming at the top of her lungs in fear.

"Melanie!" he exclaimed. Mr. Gallant, in shock, turned around and watched Michael rush to get on his knees to be at eye level with his daughter, who was crying and shaking fearfully. "What the _hell_ are you doing? Don't you see I'm busy?!"

"I know, but I saw a snake, it went up my leg!" she whined. "I HATE SNAKES!"

Her father sighed and shook his head, looking at Mr. Gallant and pointing toward the door; "we will continue this interview another time."

"D-Did I make it?"

"I haven't decided that yet," Michael said. "Please, leave. Thank you for your cooperation."

As Mr. Gallant rushed out of the office, Michael sighed and looked down at Melanie with a mixture of astonishment and disappointment. He gestured to the chair the interviewee was just in, and she took it as a sign to sit down. She looked at the skirt of her silk black dress and played with her fingers as she felt her father kneel in front of her and meet her at eye level. He raised her chin up so he could look into his daughter's eyes; she began to cry, still scared from what happened.

"I'm sorry, dad. I really am…"

"We need to have a talk," he said.

Her eyes widened slightly – "p-please don't punish me! I didn't mean to! I didn't know I could do that! A thing slithered on me and I got scared! _Please_ dad!"

"I won't punish you. In fact, this isn't about you interrupting the interview," he said. "Your powers are growing."

Powers? _What powers_ , Melanie thought as she sniffled and looked at her father with confusion. She knew that her father had some advanced capabilities, but to her, they were like normal people. To her, being able to read and sense people's thoughts and what they harbored in their souls was normal; yet her father called it "her talent". She sat and listened to him with open ears.

"You were right when we arrived yesterday. You read my mind. You are _not_ fully human," he affirmed. "That is because _I_ am not human."

"I don't get it."

"Satan is my father," Michael said. "I had a human mother as a host and a ghost as a father. I am the Antichrist. I have powers just like you do. Your mother did, as well."

"Was she human?" Melanie questioned.

"Yes, through and through, but she was _special_ in her own way," Michael answered openly. "What you just did? That is called transmutation. I learned it as _salire per spatium_ … in _this_ place… this was a boarding school. Did you know that?"

Melanie, somewhat familiar with the history of each outpost, Outpost 3 included, nodded slowly, keeping eye contact with her father. His intense, piercing blue-green eyes looked so pleased that she was taking this so well.

"The Hawthorn Academy for Exceptional Young Men," Michael continued. "They took me in, taught me to control and improve my powers. They set me up to become something _great_ … sure enough, I am."

"Where are they now?" Melanie questioned.

"Gone."

"Oh." She paused for a moment. "I can sense people and their thoughts and stuff… that is a power?"

"Yes," Michael said. "Divination. There are many kinds of it. What you have is a type of clairvoyance. I read once that it is called _lectio animo_."

"Lectio… animo?" Melanie repeated.

"Yes. The ability to see into someone's soul. Not just the variant I have, where I see into what makes someone tick or what triggers their inner madness."

"Will I get more… uh, powers?" Melanie asked shyly, crossing her legs at the ankles and sighing. Michael nodded.

"Yes. It's extremely likely," he said. "I know I said I would explain it when you were older, but… you are developing so much so fast. When I developed, I was _physically_ much older than you, while you, you are so young. I never expected you to develop any more than just the clairvoyance at this point." He paused. "The point is, you need to learn how to control them, so that things like what happened just now don't happen again."

"How old are you, dad?"

"I am ten years old in human years," Michael chuckled. "That's the other thing. We age differently, too."

"You mean…"

"Yes, as in, differently than humans," Michael said. "I am physically in my early thirties. If I was a human, I'd be closer to your age, physically. You are two years old but look like you are six to eight years old. Alas, demons and satanic spawn age differently, more rapidly."

"What age do I tell people if they ask me how old I am?" Melanie questioned with confusion.

"Tell them you are six, seven, or eight. They'll believe you. By the looks of your current growth rate, you will age twice to three times as much as a normal human. So…" He thought for a moment. "Take into account your actual age and multiply it by three."

"Did you age the same way?"

"Not quite," Michael said to his daughter. "When I was about four or five years old, I aged ten years overnight."

"Weird," Melanie said with a bewildered tone to accompany it.

"If you are ever curious, please… ask me questions. As for your powers, I will help you in that department as well."

He held her hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze. Melanie felt a sense of comfort knowing her father would be there to guide her and help her understand her state of being over the course of her life for as long as he was around. She smiled earnestly and nodded.

"Thank you, dad. Very much."

"Changing the subject," Michael said, "what did you sense from Mr. Gallant?"

He could tell Melanie was not very keen on him by her facial expression. Her thin, pale eyebrows were raised, and her brow was wrinkled and furrowed. Shaking her head, she simply said: "Dad, he's a coward. Why didn't he just _leave_ that life behind if it was so bad and he hated his grandma so much? He is a grown man. Don't even get me started on _her_ , the grandma. I may not like that blonde woman much already, but I agree, she isn't fit to procreate in the sanctuary. Her time on earth is up."

Michael was extremely pleased with her insights. As they flowed from her lips, he nodded and smiled a big, toothy grin. He agreed with every word, especially about the grandmother, Evie Gallant.

"I haven't interviewed her yet, but I do agree with you wholeheartedly," her father said, gently patting her head as he rose to his feet. "I am very pleased, Melanie. Thank you."

"Oh," she added, "let's not forget. He literally asked you if he could take the easy way out. Think about that before you decide to let him join us."

 _My daughter is my daughter_ , he thought to himself.

"I was thinking the exact same, Melanie," Michael smiled, patting her head again with praise before he reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a few pieces of peach-flavored image candy. Melanie's eyes widened, and she smiled at her reward. She took a piece in her mouth and sucked on it a bit before biting it and swallowing the pieces she chewed.

* * *

The interviews went on until roughly two days later. In that time, she had learned the names of all the inhabitants of the outpost. Timothy was the name of the young man with brown hair and eyes often seen with Emily, the girl of about the same age who was of mixed race. Melanie, through her senses, knew that they should be approved by her father to join them in the sanctuaries. From what she heard in their interviews, they had gotten in trouble for having relations and were nearly executed, as Venable dictated in her rules which she claimed came from the Cooperative. However, it turned out this was fabricated by her, and Michael had interviewed her personally for this matter. Evie was never interviewed – Melanie wondered why exactly but didn't pay it any mind. Coco, the blonde woman in her early forties, was also interviewed, but Michael made the quick judgement that she lacked any depth of character; Melanie was indecisive about her case aside from personal biases stemming from her dislike of Coco. Andre, the black man, had expressed hatred toward his mother, Dinah Stevens, one of the woman Melanie felt that strange familiarity with at the outpost. When she sat for her interview, Michael had a sense of knowing her before as well.

Though she was instructed to not make any friends with the survivors, she still ended up socializing with Emily and Timothy. She formally met Emily first, after the Purple-class young woman heard music blaring from the suite she shared with her father. The girl, dressed in full attire before dinner, had come out of her private suite and heard a loud bass through the walls. Curiously, she peeked in and witnessed the young girl dancing rapidly to the now-antiquated _Lose Control_ by Missy Elliot. The girl was dressed in a black pinafore with short puffy sleeves and a white lace collar, complete with a black hair ribbon in the style of headband, and black tights. Her shoes were not on yet for dinner, and her golden curls were getting messy from how she was dancing. Emily, feeling the beat, was reminded of a more expressive time in her life, before the nuclear holocaust, and bopped her head. Melanie, sensing someone there, saw Emily and smiled before turning down the radio's volume dial.

"Great song," she said.

"Yeah… I know it. Missy Elliot," Emily said back.

"Missy… what?"

"That's who sings it, with… Fatboy Slim and Ciara," the young woman reminded the little girl.

"Oh," Melanie smirked. "Yeah, my dad doesn't like when I listen to this music so loud. He's down in the office, so… I won't bother him."

"Has he picked anyone yet?" Emily asked bluntly.

Taken aback, Melanie neither shook her head nor nodded; "I cannot tell you. It is classified." She sighed. "Is that why you came here?"

"No, not really," Emily said nervously. "I…I was drawn by the music… it reminded me of before all of _this_ , all of the bombs."

 _She's his daughter, she's got to know something_. Melanie grunted as she read Emily's mind clear as day.

"I'm not dumb, you know," the little girl said. "I am not just going to give you classified information. My dad would have my head, and for someone my age, that's saying a lot. Trust me."

"I didn't…"

"Emily, don't play that game with me," Melanie said firmly. "Again…" She walked up to her, closer, and her voice seemed to echo in her mind like a silent scream. "I am not stupid."

The girl could sense the fear and apprehension all over Emily, who quickly shoved the idea she had into the back of her mind and cleared her throat. "Are you coming down to dinner?"

"I will."

"Want to… come down with _me_?"

"Maybe… what's it to you?" Melanie joked.

"I'm just trying to be nice," Emily said. "God only knows, you're the type who needs a friend."

Melanie nodded; "correct. This whole thing has been so lonely for me. I don't get to talk to people. _Nice_ people, or people my age."

"I'm nice," the older girl smiled. "I try to be."

Melanie sat on the floor and put her shoes on, fastening the straps at went across her feet as she walked out of the room, locking the door sharply and double-checking to make sure it was secure. She looked up at Emily, sizing her up even though she herself only stood roughly three-foot-seven. She was of mixed white and black ancestry, possibly with some Hispanic in there. Her long, black kinky curls were loose but held back from her face in silver hairclips. She had large black eyes, was thin-figured, stood about five-foot-two, and was clad in a lilac-colored evening gown made of silk and taffeta with embroidery on the neckline and hem of the dress. On her hands were white lace fingerless gloves, and Melanie noticed a purple velvet choker adorning her neck with a cameo on the front. The little girl curiously tugged at the skirt, feeling the fabric and smiling.

"I like this," she remarked.

"It's all they had in my closet in my suite," Emily said. "Sucks we have to wear this."

"I don't like wearing _all_ black but I have to," Melanie chuckled. "Want to know a secret?"

Emily eagerly crouched down to meet her height and let the little girl cup over her ear with both hands, listening to her whisper: "I don't like Miss Venable."

Agreeing, the young woman nodded: "who _does_?"

The two went downstairs and made it in time for dinner with just three minutes to spare before Venable were to say anything about them being late. Everyone was already seated at a long table, where she was at the head of it, staring at Emily and Melanie as they entered. The little girl could feel a dozen pairs of eyes on her, and while she met the gazes of Dinah, Coco, and Mr. Gallant, she ignored the rest and sat at the other end of the table, meeting everyone's curious gazes with a silencing smile.

"Ah, Melanie," Venable said facetiously, placing a cloth napkin on her lap. "I didn't think _you_ would be joining us. Does your _father_ know?"

 _Don't talk to_ _me_ _about_ _my_ _father with that sarcastic tone, you grump. You're just sad because he rejected you from joining us in the sanctuary because you made up your own rules in this roost_ , she thought to herself, reading Venable at the same time and resisting the temptation to speak her mind aloud, _without my father, you would not even be in your position, he can take it from you just as fast as you can wrap with your cane_.

"Melanie?"

The little girl snapped out of her silent rant in her head. "Yeah?"

"Did your father allow you to dine with us?"

"Uh… what's the harm?"

"You're a Black," Venable said, "dining amongst Purples."

Melanie heard a whisper come from Andre, the effeminate black man with a lisp: "segregation all over again." She took it into account and formulated her reply based on it.

"We are the last humans on earth," she said. "Why does it matter who eats with who? It's only clothing that separates us by rank."

"It's more than that," Venable challenged. "It is the foundation for a functioning society."

"It's the foundation for _conflict_ ," the little girl retorted vehemently.

 _I refuse to argue with this girl right now_ , Venable thought as sensed by the little girl.

Soon, the Grays each carried individual silver plates complete with domes to the ones at the dining table. Melanie could not smell the familiar scent of something hot and savory, but instead something stale and cool to the touch. She watched as everyone was served from Venable's end of the table all the way down to hers, the last to be presented. She curiously picked up the silver dome and furrowed her brow at the sight of nothing – nothing but a gel-like substance in cube form. She prodded it with her fork and looked at Venable.

"What… is this?"

"That contains every mineral and vitamin your body needs to survive," said Venable.

"In this thing?" Melanie chuckled, looking at everyone seated. "At this point, I am shocked you haven't resorted to eating _each other_."

There was a dead silence. Led by her senses, the little girl was drawn to turn her head to Andre, whose tearful gaze met hers. She sighed and sensed something from him. The residents at Outpost 3 indeed had eaten one of theirs at one point in time, a man named Stu, who also happened to be Andre's boyfriend. He was killed under the false pretenses that he was a contamination risk, being scrubbed raw with wet brooms and disinfectant alongside Mr. Gallant, who she took a glance at before returning Andre's gaze at the table.

"I'm sorry about Stu," she muttered.

"Don't you _mention_ him! You don't…" Andre stopped himself, taking the finger he pointed toward her aback, "wait… how do you _know his name_? You weren't there!"

She shrugged, but it was this moment that Mr. Gallant stood up and pointed a finger at the mysterious little girl at the end of the table who did nothing but prod at the jelly cube she was given.

"This little girl is creepy!" he exclaimed. "She _knows_ things! I don't know what the hell I saw a few days ago-"

"Shut up! She's like, six years old!" Emily yelled back at the man across the table from her. "She's _just_ a savant or something like that!"

" _Silence_!" Venable snapped loudly, tapping her cane against the floor next to her seat. "Sit down, Mr. Gallant, and eat your ration!" She turned to Melanie, who remained cool as a cucumber. "And you, if you say _one more word_ , you are excused from this dinner table never to return."

* * *

After an extremely boring, silent dinner with the Purples and Venable, Melanie retired to the common room and started to look at the bookshelves. She was by her lonesome, and there were a lot of the typical classics of literature, books on philosophy beyond even her comprehension, even instructional manuals on how to repair machinery and appliances. However, there was one book that peaked her interest on the top shelf, entitled _Lexicon_ ; it was thick but medium-sized, leather-bound in brown cowhide. She fixed her eyes on the book and tried a few times to reach for it with her small self but failed. Then, without any warning, the book fell from the shelf, nearly smacking the girl's face with all its weight. It hit her foot, and she resisted the urge to yelp aloud. She sat down and opened the book, rubbing her shoe-covered foot roughly to ease the pain of the impact as her eyes scanned the pages with pure intrigue.

In the book, she saw peculiar patterns in circles with strange inscriptions off to the side of the page written as notes. Melanie also feasted her eyes on strange diagrams of personified plants and roots, as well as pictures of bones, both animal and human, in relation to whatever was written on the page. She turned to a specific page in the middle of the book that was more like a centerfold, depicting a strange image of a creature with two large, curved horns, deep black eyes, two rows of teeth filed to a point, hooved feet, and wings that were like those of a bat. Melanie peered down at the peculiar drawing, feeling drawn to it. Yet she was confused when she began to hear voices:

" _Father! Open my eyes!"_

 _Sounds a lot like dad_ , she thought to herself.

" _I beg for your wisdom!"_

Melanie closed the book she had been looking into on the floor and carried it with her, feeling the weight of it nearly drag her arm down. She rushed upstairs to the suite she shared with her father, but the first thing she did was put the mysterious _Lexicon_ under her bed. The voice of her father was even clearer now that she was in the vicinity.

"May you rise from the void! Help me to overcome my weaknesses! I evoke power in your name to be strong within! FATHER! OPEN MY EYES!"

She took off her shoes to help her walk more quietly, letting the sounds of her father's voice lead her to where he was. Curious, she took a peek into their shared bathroom and was immediately horrified at the sight. For one, Michael was naked, kneeling on the floor in what looked to be a circle of his own blood. She noticed that his arms were cut from the wrists all the way up to the middle of his biceps, and it continued to spill out as he lathered his chest and groin with the sanguine fluid. She gasped at what she witnessed next – near the candles on the floor, black snakes manifested themselves and slithered about, nearly giving the ophidiophobic girl a heart attack. However, that was the least of her worries. Her father seemed to stare off into space in her direction, his eyes turning the same shade of black as he had looked at her before when being authoritative or if he was reprimanding her and meant business.

She heard him say: " _ave satanas_."

That did it – she backed away in fear, running away from the scene she just saw. She wondered to herself if her father would die with such wounds. She wondered why he was calling on Satan at this time, and an even bigger question, _why_ was he doing it? She ran out of the suite and down the hall, looking back to glance and see if what Michael conjured took notice of her presence and was chasing her, but she bumped into someone. Her heart beat so fast she thought it would burst, but she was surprised to see Mallory, one of the girls that her father had interviewed. Her bright blue eyes widened at the Gray servant with the top antenna-style bun on her head in dead center, dressed in an apron over a calf-length dress complete with black stockings and button-up boots. Her black eyeglasses framed her warm brown eyes, ones that were distinctive to her for some reason she could not quite figure out yet.

"You… y-you're…"

"Miss Melanie," she said. "I am so sorry."

"No, it's _my_ fault," Melanie answered. "Don't say sorry."

"What are you doing, may I ask? Are you okay?" Mallory crouched to eye level to meet Melanie's gaze.

"I… uh," the little girl looked around for a moment before giving a definite answer. "Yes… I am _fine_."

"Do you need anything? That is what I am here for," Mallory asked, her hands on Melanie's upper arms.

"What I _need_ ," she began, speaking quietly and leaning in, "is to tell you that you are different."

"Huh?"

"You and two others here, I _know_ you are different. You are kind of like me," Melanie spoke rapidly. "I _know it_. I don't know how, but I do…" She took a breath, taking note of the confusion on the Gray's face. "That is what I needed."

"Oh…" Mallory looked down and licked her lips subtly. _She knows, doesn't she. She's like him._

"I'm not _like_ my father in the sense that you think," Melanie corrected, responding to what she read in her mind.

"How did you…"

"Look, I'm like him, but _not_ like him," she said, letting her thoughts flow freely as she gazed into her dark eyes. "I hate death and dying, but it's part of this twisted world I was born into. I don't want to hurt people unless they step on me. I have the strangest family dynamic the world at present has ever known. I've never met my mother, I don't know where my grandma is. My father said she was a guard here, but I have not seen her. I hate not being able to socialize with people." She paused, and Mallory listened. "I traveled around the world this past year or so… if you were me, you'd kill yourself or wish you died in the blasts. I hate wearing these… these…" She tugged at her skirt, " _clothes_ , I also can't believe they're feeding you _jelly_!"

"I-I'm listening," Mallory said in an almost compliant manner, nodding without breaking eye contact. Then she stood up, looking down into her eyes and taking her by the hand as if to lead her down the hallway.

"Are you taking me to your room?" the little girl asked, a little calmer.

"Yes. I am here for you, Miss Melanie," she said.

"We won't be caught? I'm actually not supposed to even associate with you Grays."

"I won't tell if you won't," Mallory said gravely.

"I'm glad you won't. You better not," the little girl said.

"Yes, Miss Melanie."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _I'm on fire with these updates! I'm SO into this story, and I am glad to be. I am pleased with how everything unfolds. I love getting an idea, but it is even better when a NEW idea takes its place and makes the story really flow smoothly._

 _Please Follow and Favorite if you like this story and want to see more. Reviews are also appreciated! Stay tuned for what happens between Mallory and our little demon child!_


	7. Ch 7 - Angels in Disguise

**Chapter 7: Angels in Disguise**

Mallory had led Melanie down the hall into the Gray's quarters, where she shared a wide dormitory-style bedroom with several others of her class. For added privacy, they went into the bathroom, where the little girl sat cross-legged on the tile floor. Mallory sat on the edge of the bathtub that the Grays shared in their communal bathroom. The little girl smoothed out her skirt and sighed; she had been in the closet like the other interviews she helped her father with, but with Mallory's she was intrigued at what she heard through the wide plank of wood that separated her from the happenings of the interview.

"Do you want to tell me how your interview went, Mallory?" the little girl asked, acting dumb.

"I don't know what happened," Mallory said nervously. "It was like… I was triggered. I had this, emotional response that I don't fully understand."

"Like… what?"

"I don't know how to explain it. I don't know if you'd understand."

Melanie raised both her pale eyebrows and scoffed; "you're kidding me." After a pause, she continued to speak, "I'm _six_ and can read books at the adolescent level. I think I can understand what happened. Now, _tell me_."

Mallory sighed, speaking solemnly: "I feel like there is someone inside me just trying to claw its way out." _I knew that,_ Melanie thought, staying silent, _tell me what happened_. "I set the room on fire."

"You did?"

"Yes. It could have been a blast from radiation but…" the Gray servant paused, "it did something, and now I'm like the Dark Phoenix."

"It was not radiation," Melanie affirmed. " _Not_ likely, with the safety measures in these outposts. Did anything _else_ happen?" She was fishing, trying to confirm if what she sensed was accurate.

"I…I'm sorry, but… I sent your father across the room," the Gray confessed. "I don't know how."

 _She is different. I KNEW IT! I wonder what this…aura is that I sense around her_ , Melanie thought to herself, her eyes widening silently up at the Gray.

"I knew it," she blurted. "You are different. You are not just made to _serve_ like a pathetic _slave_. You were put on this earth for something _greater_."

"Please," Mallory said, "don't kiss my ass."

"That woman… she's different, too… she treats you _horribly_ , doesn't she?" Melanie knew the answer to this from eavesdropping on her interview from the closet but asked to hide her cover.

"She does, yes," Mallory said. "She was getting a costume prepared for the masked soiree being held in the common room in a few days, and I was there. I tried to tell _her_ about what happened with my interview, but she didn't believe me. She just _berated_ me like I was nothing. I felt so worthless. I still do. I don't even know if your father is going to pick me to join the sanctuary."

Melanie kept silent about that, beating around her phrase: "I am not sure about that. I don't see why he _wouldn't_."

The little girl stood up and looked into Mallory's eyes piercingly, taking the liberty in removing the large, thick glasses with black frames off her face. She peered down at the glasses before saying anything.

"You don't wear these for sight," she said.

"They're just for style," the Gray servant nodded, speaking quietly.

"But is it…" Melanie's lively blue eyes looked right into hers again, " _your_ style? Truly?"

Mallory was silent, unable to say anything. She was utterly fascinated by the penetrating curiosity of the mysterious little girl. At that moment, Melanie could sense that she was questioning herself and what to say next. In the meantime, she got that sense of familiarity again, but it had nothing to do with any hypothetical powers she possessed. It was more personal, as if it were a memory from a former life. She breathed in through her nostrils and out through the same medium, speaking softly as her childlike voice danced nostalgically.

"I knew someone," she said, "she had those _same_ eyes. She took care of me when I was just a baby."

"You don't remember things from when you're a baby, Melanie. Did you not know that?" Mallory questioned skeptically.

"Yeah, and babies cannot speak to say that, now can they?"

 _This girl is insanely smart. Is she a savant or_ … Mallory was in thought, and Melanie could hear every word.

"No, I'm not a savant. At least I don't think I am," she chuckled. "I do think I have known you before."

"That isn't possible," Mallory objected calmly.

"But it is, I know it," the little girl said, sighing before she continued. "You… take your hair down…please?"

"I can't…"

Melanie spoke with more intention, gazing into her eyes as though she were boring holes into the Gray's soul: "take your hair down, Mallory."

Her eyes were fixed on the little girl's, her arms shaking uncontrollably as she reached up and undid the ridiculous antenna-bun hairstyle she was forced to wear. Melanie watched her undo the braid that composed it and when her hair was finally loose, it all made sense to her. She had a vision, looking into Mallory's chocolate brown eyes, of that same girl but wearing celestial jewelry, a white lace dress, and a gold leaflet headband on her crown. She nearly teared up from the intensity of her memories, all coming back to her as she expressed her thoughts freely.

"You took care of me," she revealed, "when I was a baby."

Mallory shook her head in denial – "I don't remember that."

"But you _must_. I am not sure why you _can't_ right now, but I _know_ it was you!" she exclaimed under her breath. "I never met my real mom, but you were like my mom for the first two weeks of my life. You fed me…" Melanie tried to remember, "goat's milk…pureed organ meats… I _needed_ that because I couldn't have formula. Don't you remember, Mallory?"

The Gray stood up and pointed toward the door and quietly ordered the little girl, technically her superior: "I think it's time you go to bed."

"Wait a minute, I'm not finished," Melanie protested, standing up and looking at the Gray.

"I just don't want to see you get in trouble with your father," Mallory said, making a valid enough excuse for the little girl to budge off her and not act up right then. Melanie scowled, typical of an unhappy child, and walked toward the door of the bathroom. She turned and looked at her, speaking with her father's suave eloquence.

"You know, something is going to happen in which you will learn your _true nature_ , Mallory. Just wait and see."

With that, she left the Gray quarters. When she was back in the hallway, she gasped at the sound of footsteps that sounded almost tripled. _Venable_ , that was Melanie's first thought. Thinking fast, she looked around at a proper place to transmute to and hide. Looking up and hearing the sound nearing her, she teleported to the ceiling corner where it met the wall and struggled to hold on, but it was far from an easy task. When she watched Venable, holding a candle to light her way through the hallway, she groaned quietly as she struggled to hold on. She then looked for another place to transmute to, which was the floor just below her. She did, safely, but Venable turned right around. _Big mistake_ , she thought as she was at a loss for words.

"What are you doing out of bed, _Miss Melanie_?" Venable snided cruelly. Melanie, looking for a quick comeback, saw her outfit and noticed she was dressed as a Purple, when she was supposed to be in Black.

"What are _you_ doing dressed in Purple, _Miss Venable_?" the little girl retorted with a prankster's chuckle. "What happened to knowing your place?"

"Funny," the woman snapped, moving closer to her. Melanie, foreseeing a punishing slap to her face, transmuted right behind Venable's back when she would have been closer to the little girl. She heard a frustrated grunt as the woman with scoliosis groaned in pain at having to catch up with the girl's sudden movement.

"It's a death sentence if you even _think_ of touching me in the way I know you're going to," Melanie said crudely. "So just _give up_."

"You are the definition of insolence, by _every_ stretch of the imagination," Venable said through gritted teeth.

"I've done everything I could to obey the _rules_ around here," the little girl said with authority. "Leave me alone."

"Oh yes, I heard your little footsteps near the Gray's quarters. You are really a _shining example_ , Miss Melanie," Venable snorted.

She stayed put, not using transmutation again as Venable walked, her cane as a crutch, over to her. Somehow, someway, she looked at the cane and saw that it fell out of her grip and onto the floor, and before she could say one more thing to the little girl, Venable fell to the floor. The woman yelped in agony, looking at the little girl hatefully. Meanwhile, Melanie's jaw dropped at what she just witnessed. Yes, she had concentrated on her and the cane, but didn't expect for it to fall out under her like it did. She backed away slowly, more shocked by what she possibly made happen than curious about Venable's thoughts that moment.

"Grr… you little _brat_!" the woman growled.

"I…I didn't do that," Melanie said under her breath, walking forward a bit more.

"Get over here and _help me_ up!" she ordered harshly.

She laughed in her head, not aloud, but Melanie walked over slowly and leaned down, but when Venable reached to hold her small hand, she pulled it away briskly and chuckled.

"Do you think someone of _my size_ and _stature_ could lift _you_ up?" she asked rhetorically. "Think about that, as I have you _right_ where I want you. This is your rightful place, at my _feet_." The vibrations in her coercive voice seemed to resonate in every corner of Venable's mind; she was at full attention. "I think the whole class system you set up here is a recipe for disaster, don't get me wrong, but one thing's for sure. You answer to my father, and I am his daughter, so you answer to _me_ , as well." She leaned down further and whispered with pure intention: "anything that just happened here, did not happen. You had just a _little fall_ , a mishap with your cane. You did not see me at all tonight."

With that, she walked away from the woman, who looked around in confusion and struggled to get up by herself. Melanie read her thoughts for verification that bending her will actually worked, and it did because all she could sense off Venable was confusion, with " _I need a new cane. I hope they'll give me one. This really hurts_ ". She made it back to the suite she shared with her father and collapsed on her bed, falling asleep almost instantaneously even though she felt a pair of eyes watching her – it was Michael, peering into the room from the bathroom where he was holding his bizarre blood ritual.

* * *

She did not sleep very well that night. The image of her naked father cutting up his arms and summoning Satan in the bathroom was enough to push her dreams off the edge into ones that elicited fear and anxiety. At roughly 6AM, she woke up and sat up in her bed, hearing the voice of her father from across the room at his much larger bed.

"You were right about Mallory," he said. Melanie, confused, wondered why he didn't sense the fact she had associated with a Gray and broke the rules.

"What?"

He lit all of the candles in the room with his mind in one go by way of pyrokinesis, one of his many powers. Melanie looked around in amazement in the rare display of his talents, and she saw him gazing over at her from his place under his covers.

"Melanie, something _is_ strange about Mallory," he said. "You were correct in your convictions when we arrived."

"I know I was," she said.

"She sent me flying, and she made the flames come out of the fireplace during the interview," Michael explained.

"I know."

"Oh," he said, "well _how_ do you know?"

"Are you asking me this for real? I was in the closet during the interview, remember? Like I was for all of them," Melanie reminded him.

"So, you didn't just _run_ out of here and bump into her and go with her to the Gray's quarters knowing _full well_ you weren't allowed in there? Let alone _associating_ with them?" he asked sternly.

Melanie quickly changed the subject, pointing out as to why she ran out in the first place: "what the _heck_ were you doing last night? You had your _arms_ cut open! That's dangerous! You could die! I was scared, dad!"

He saw her start to tear up with worry, and he responded: "I have an accelerated healing factor." He showed his arms where they had been cut from the wrist all the way to the biceps. "See? It's all healed."

"It's only part of the point! I was scared, so I ran, and I thought Mallory would help me calm down! She's _different_! She's like _us_!" Melanie exclaimed, jumping out of her bed and walking toward Michael's side of his bed defiantly. "You SAW it with your OWN EYES!"

"Melanie, I specifically said to _not_ associate with Grays. You defied me," he said indignantly.

"Dad, you're being _unreasonable_!" she shrieked, starting a tantrum. "She is DIFFERENT! She is NOT made to SERVE! She is made more like US!"

Michael's eyes turned their demonic black and he stared straight at and through her. His voice turned to a demonic growl: "I will not tolerate your defiance, Melanie. If you do it again, you will be punished! That is FINAL!"

She was silent, tears flowing from her eyes. She was not quite afraid, but not quite confident enough to stand up to her father for his ridiculous rules. She sighed and shook her head, watching her father's eyes turn back to their piercing blue-green color. She took a seat on his bed, and he looked at her with a mixture of sympathy and disappointment, but he listened to her.

"Mallory cared for me during the first two weeks of my life. I remember now," Melanie said with an eerie calmness to her voice. "She… fed me pureed organ meats and goat's milk… she protected me, until it was time to hand me over to you." She paused. "She is the first mother I've ever known."

"Miriam is your grandma and helped me raise you so far before she became a guard," Michael said more calmly. "Your real mother died when you were born. Mallory is _not_ your mother. You are looking for a mother in someone that isn't even _her_."

"Where even _is_ Grandma? I have not seen her."

"She isn't programmed to-" He caught himself, sighing. Melanie was intrigued.

" _Programmed_? What do you mean?"

"I meant to tell you this, Melanie. Your Grandma…she isn't human, either," he said.

"Really?"

"Yes. Do you remember last year, when the bombs fell, the two men I was sitting with, who I told to push the buttons?" Michael reminded her, getting out of his bed and sitting right next to Melanie on the side of the bed.

"The guys with the awful haircuts?" she chuckled, remembering how ridiculous they looked. "Yeah?"

"They created her, in the likeness of my foster mother. She _was_ human in her former life, but some very evil people had her killed," Michael said.

"Who?"

"Witches."

Melanie looked at him with confusion – "there's no such thing."

"Not anymore," Michael chuckled. "But… speak for yourself."

She was confused: "speak for _myself_?"

"Your mother, she was a Witch. One of _them_ ," Michael revealed. Melanie's eyes widened in wonder as he continued. "She was the _only_ one I loved, and still love. I made her my wife and consort."

"Wait, you said my mom was _human_ ," she said with bewilderment.

"Witches _were_ humans. They were humans with the ability to perform magic," Michael clarified.

"Well… when can I see Grandma? And how is she so _human-like_?"

"Mutt and Jeff are some VERY talented scientists," he said. "When I lost her, they brought her back to me." He paused. "You will see her very soon."

* * *

Much later that day, Melanie had spent some time looking through the _Lexicon_ she found the night before. She picked up after where she left off of the centerfold image of the strange demon-like creature and turned the page to see a ripe apple depicted on the page with a photo of a black-handled dagger. Looking at the apple, a food she had never had the experience of trying, a vision formulated in her mind. It was a sequence of black gloved hands taking a syringe to an apple. Melanie had a weird feeling about what was in that syringe, but it was confirmed when she cringed at the thought of a black snake having the venom milked from its fangs. She slammed the book shut and left the suite, following her inner sense of direction paired with her extrasensory talents to lead the way. She _knew_ there were apples here, in this outpost, somewhere, she was going to find them.

She went down the stairs, and kept her palm on the wall, sliding along it to ease her way to where they were hidden away from the survivors, and possibly even Michael as well. Why were there apples there to begin with, though? Was it a surprise for the survivors who hadn't eaten anything except jelly cubes and the occasional strange hot meal for a year and a half to present at the soiree the following evening? _I don't have a costume_ , she suddenly remembered, _I hope my dad allows me to go_.

She was led down another flight of hidden stairs, where she hit a button on the wall to activate automated doors that slid open and let her pass through another hallway that led to a brightly-colored room with white tile walls and matching flooring. Right in the middle was a mysterious black chest. She rushed over and knelt on the floor, opening it and seeing that her vision was correct – there indeed were apples in the outpost. She smiled down at them before picking one up, analyzing the deep red color and the smooth, perfect skins. She even smelled a crisp, sweet scent from the one she was holding. However, the happiness from her discovery didn't last long. She put that apple down and took up another one, except this one smelled bitter and like chemicals. She leaned in to smell it, and lo and behold, the vision of the syringe came to her mind again.

 _Poison_ , she thought, her jaw dropping at the thought of someone higher up in the outpost planning to kill everyone with these; was it her father? Or, worse yet, Venable? _I must warn them_!

* * *

The following evening was the soiree planned for Halloween. Melanie was not familiar with the meaning of the holiday, but Michael allowed her to be there; according to him, he was busy. The girl thought it was with selecting survivors based on their interviews, but he did not actually disclose what it was. She prepared an impromptu costume featuring a tutu, a pair of wings, and a blouse. All garments were lilac purple to make a fairy ensemble. She went down, and a few people smiled at her costume and how cute she looked. Emily was the first to greet her, and it was the event where she formally met Timothy for the first time. He was very friendly toward the girl, which made her happy. She heard all of the chatter, looking around observantly, until she turned to see a familiar face slapping the hand of Mr. Gallant, who was trying to reach into a bucket.

"Ow!" he vocalized as he got slapped.

"No treats until the time comes." The familiar voice was that of Miriam. _Dad was right_ , Melanie thought as she smiled at her grandmother, _she's doing her job so, leave her alone_. It sucked she had to do that but she had to and that was that.

"Where did they come from?" ask Emily curiously.

"Maybe I should drag in one of the horses that rode through hell to bring us these sweet little wonders, so you can look it in the mouth," Miriam chuckled.

"Symbolic," Mr. Gallant agreed, "how clever. It's the apples from paradise, the Garden of Eden!"

"Obviously they're from the Sanctuary," Dinah said with a smile, sipping from the mineral water that served as a cocktail. "We should say grace to the universe for sending them our way."

"You're so fucking annoying," Andre, her son, mocked.

"Miss Venable says everyone will get a chance to bob for apples later," Miriam instructed.

Melanie took the chance to announce her findings: "I wouldn't!"

They all looked at the little girl dressed in a fairy outfit and muttered amongst themselves with confusion. Mr. Gallant, Miriam, and Dinah all looked at her, as well as a few Gray servants standing around with trays in their bland uniforms.

"Why not, little girl?" the flamboyant gay hairdresser asked.

"It's suspicious," Melanie explained. "I have reason to think they're poisoned."

"Poisoned?" Dinah asked. "Why would anyone want to poison us? We are some of the last humans on earth."

"Put it this way," the little girl said, pointing a finger out to help her in her point. "If you go ahead and eat an apple, you will _not_ make it to the Sanctuary. I guarantee it. You have all been warned."

Mr. Gallant's mind was an open book for Melanie: _that girl knows things. How do I know she didn't poison them, though?_

"I didn't poison anything," Melanie replied, making his jaw drop. "I just think it's weird you've been eating jelly cubes for a year and a half and _all of a sudden_ , you get apples shipped here? No other outpost I've been to _ever_ has gotten such treatment. It's weird, that's all."

The room fell silent save for the classical music on the radio for ambience, but a bored, female voice broke it as soon as it fell silent. Everyone looked up at the balcony overlooking the common room, where Mallory, the Gray servant, looked down and announced the presence of her mistress.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt," she said morosely.

Everyone, Melanie included, looked up at the spectacle made by the inherent billionaire at the top of the balcony, where Mallory moved aside to reveal a flamboyant 18th-century styled costume in the color of her class with historical makeup and a literal over-the-top hairstyle reminiscent of Marie Antoinette and her outrageous wig styles. Melanie just rolled her eyes; _oh brother_ , she thought. She then heard awkward clapping, looking to see the source as Mr. Gallant.

"Round of applause, please!" he ordered. Everyone followed suit, even Melanie, who only did it to keep up appearances. In reality, she was sick to her stomach from how small and awkward this event was.

"You did that?" Dinah asked with surprise, admiring the handiwork of the flamboyant hairstylist.

"Yes, without a hair dryer. I even astonish myself sometimes!" he replied. _You're so full of yourself, you aren't aware of that hole in your heart_ , Melanie thought. She averted her eyes back up to the balcony, where Venable startled Coco with a subtle "boo" right behind her ear before she spoke out toward the small gathering of people. The little girl listened with penetrating fascination, hanging onto and analyzing every word spoke aloud, but not before noticing Venable was wearing her usual Black Victorian-style garb.

"Tonight, is All Hallows Eve, a time where the boundary between this world and the other thins, and it marks the beginning of the dark half of the year. Lost souls are said to pierce the firmament, desperate to navigate their way home," she said. "It is an evening to remember the dead. This year, there have been far too many to mourn. Alas, we celebrate that we have yet to join them."

 _Not if I can help it_ , Melanie thought to herself, knowing exactly what Venable's double-entendre stood for.

"We take delight in the small things we once took for granted. Music, dancing, drinking, feasting…" Venable paused and looked around calculatingly. "Everyone, I mean _everyone_ , should enjoy this night as thought it were their _last_."

"Now, wait just a minute!" Melanie exclaimed.

"Please, Miss Melanie," Venable pleaded, making her way down the spiral staircase that led to the common room below. "Save the antics for another time."

She caned her way past the little girl, who made her head turn with the following words, said with such conviction it frightened her: "I already know what you are planning. I already warned everyone here. You will _not_ get away with this… _alive_."

The woman ignored her and moved forward, away from the festivities as the music started to play. Melanie felt even more nauseous; how could these humans around her be so daft and not believe her warnings when she had demonstrated a few times over that she was capable of knowing things the average Joe could not? Even Mr. Gallant saw her teleport right behind him when she was spooked by a snake in the closet she had been hiding in during his interview, and he knew that she knew things? How could they all be so blind to what was in front of them even with simple logic?

"Melanie?" The little girl looked up and saw the source of the voice was Emily with Timothy, who smiled down at her.

"Oh, hey," she said solemnly.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine I guess." _These humans wouldn't understand. They're such a joy, aren't they?_

* * *

It was time now – Michael knew what he had to do. In front of him was a small pit of fire burning in a brass bowl, and there was a ring of black salt and candles light in a circle around it. He had his special dagger in his left hand, ready to make a slash on his right palm. He did not feel like attempting Descensum one last time – instead, it was this resurrection spell. At this point, he felt ready to bring back his wife and consort, Misty Day, so that she could finally be with her daughter as well as rule as the de-facto queen of the world by his side. He got into the state of mind needed, imagining her diamond-shaped ethereal face framed with soft golden curls, her bright blue eyes that shined with benevolence and light, and the very smile he hoped she would have upon her final resurrection from the depths of the netherworld. Smiling with satisfaction, he took the knife to his palm and slid it across, letting the blood drip into the fire as he chanted:

" _Cinis est anima,_

 _Oriri ex igne,_

 _Revertere ad me…_

 _Revertere ad me…_ "

He took in a deep breath, feeling his incised hand catch fire and start to scald and boil over the raging fire, which grew with potency at his commands. He barely felt any pain, but even if he did, in his mind, he was doing a good thing for not only himself, but Melanie. He repeated " _revertere ad me_ ," over and over, until a blast seemed to push him away from the circle he crafted with the fire in the middle. He looked at his hand and saw it had fully healed, but past his fingers, he saw the spell had worked – Misty materialized in the room right before his eyes, the fire still burning in the back of her.

He watched in awe, his heart fluttering. She looked confused and noticed the candles at her feet before she looked ahead to see Michael laying back halfway on the floor. When he rose to his feet, he approached her slowly, a slight smile of satisfaction on his face. Misty's hands traveled up and down her form, ensuring that what she was feeling and experiencing was real. She was still clad in the white nightgown she had died in when giving birth to Melanie two years before.

"Am I…"

"Yes, Misty," Michael said with a nod. "You are back. You are in the mortal coil."

She was silent, but he moved closer and held on of her hands, kissing the top of it in a gentleman's way before gently putting his hands on her slender waist. He looked down into her eyes, which were full of tears as she tried to process everything. Being trapped in hell was no strange experience to her, but it had finally taken its toll. As of that moment, she had spent a total of seven years and six months down in the netherworld, including the time she got stuck during a failed Descensum attempt.

"It can't be," she cried under her breath. "This ain't the mortal coil. This is the exact same place!"

Michael held his wife close to him, hearing her sob into his dinner jacket and shake in his embrace. He tried to calm her down, but she seemed inconsolable. He held her tighter, running his fingers through her hair.

" _Shh_ …." he muttered calmly, inhaling the soft scent of patchouli he had grown to love. "It is, my dear. I can prove that to you."

"W-Where's my daughter? She ain't here," she whined.

"She _is_ here," Michael said. "I promised you that you would see her. She is downstairs. There is a party." He let her go and wiped her tears with his index finger and looked down into her bright eyes. "However, I should tell you a few things to catch you up on what has happened up here."

* * *

Melanie was sitting on the couch while Emily and Timothy danced within her vicinity to the music in a classic waltz. The little girl simply kicked her feet back and forth and looked around, noticing a strange figure in all black approach Coco, who was wearing a satin mask with her costume to fit the theme. Feeling like a third wheel to Emily and Timothy, she zeroed in on the exchange between the two.

"Oh, who are _you_?" Coco asked excitedly. "You're not Andre… and I would know my hairdresser _anywhere_." She paused. "Ah… is it, Mr. Langdon?"

The little girl almost died of laughter right there – _that's not my dad, you twit. My dad doesn't go to these things_. This was confirmed as she tried to peer into the soul of the mysterious man in black. All she could hear was " _Coco, you bitch, you left me in Santa Monica_ ". Yes, it was _definitely_ not Michael.

"Uh, Miss Coco?" the little girl said, raising her hand. "That's not my dad."

"Are you kidding me, kid?" she scoffed.

"He doesn't go these things. I know," Melanie informed.

"Well, we will just need to see under all of _this_ , won't we?" Coco asked rhetorically. The little girl shook her head at the outright stupidity in front of her. _I can't believe this_ , she thought. She watched Coco continue with the stranger, and if popcorn was available, she'd watch them like she would watching a film in a theatre. It was merely entertainment at this point.

"I know the whole interview thing is bullshit. You have to keep up appearances, but you already know _who_ gets to go to the sanctuaries," she said up at the masked man in black. "I have a degree from Harvard, so I know how this all works. You're going to make that announcement tonight. _I'll_ get in of course, but I want us to be in sync on who is to be _kept out_."

 _You're out of your mind_ , Melanie thought to herself in shock, watching the blonde woman interact with the nonresponsive stranger.

"I have spent the last year and a half with all of these people, so I know my opinion holds some weight. After all, that's what I do. I'm an influencer. People do what _I_ do because I have great taste."

Melanie put her face in her palm. _Give me a break_ , she thought, _the way you look tonight, anyone would know right away you try way to hard to get people to notice or like you when no one actually gives a rat's fanny_.

"You already know that about me, though, but what you don't see is a confident woman who gets what she wants," Coco continued.

 _That's it_ , Melanie thought as she began to howl hysterically in laughter. She could not hold it in anymore. Coco looked back at the little girl with a scowl on her face.

"What the hell are _you_ laughing at?"

"I'm laughing at _you_ ," the girl guffawed, holding her stomach. "I _told_ you, that's _not_ my dad! Why aren't you listening to me?!"

Coco looked up at the masked man and said, "let's go someplace _private_."

 _Like that is going to stop me_ , Melanie objected in her mind. When Coco and the mysterious man in black walked away down the hall, she waited a few minutes and followed a bit further behind than what could be detected. Luckily, she was wearing satin slippers that matched her lilac purple fairy costume, which gave her an advantage in being silent. When she was confident enough that she was away from the party, she concentrated and teleported right in front of the door that was ajar from Coco and the man entering. She peered in discreetly and overheard the conversation, watching them.

"What you also don't know is," she said, "I am a woman who likes to please. You can defile me anyway you would like. I'll even offer you something I never offered my boyfriend. I'm talking about… anilingus."

The sound of that last word sounded dirty enough to make the little girl nearly gag and retch as she spied on them. Then, she saw the man finally reveal his mask and hood. She saw the expression of horror on Coco's face as she saw a man who was not even in the outpost. She could tell by the small clumps of hair hanging to his scalp and the purple-red lesions and tumors on the exposed parts of his skin that he was an intruder, someone who survived the fallout. It reminded her of her trip to Outpost 3 with the mother and her two children, one dead and one hanging onto dear life, suffocating on the radioactive air that polluted the atmosphere.

"I know all about you, Coco," Melanie heard him tell her angrily.

"Brock! What are you doing here? How the fuck did you get in?!" the woman asked with shock. "And your _face_ , what happened?!"

"Radioactive fallout," the man named Brock answered with a husky, but furious tone. "It's _hell_ out there, and you _left me_ in it. Cancer, cannibals, infections and wounds that will not heal."

"Oh honey," Coco said softly, sounding more concerned and compassionate than she was a few seconds ago. "I always kept thinking of you. When that jet took off, I had to put you away in the part of my mind that had everything I loved but could never have again… like sushi."

 _Sushi? You've got to be kidding me_ , Melanie thought to herself, rolling her eyes as she spied on the scene.

"But you're back! You're alive!" Coco exclaimed. "Yet… so angry."

"Happy Halloween, bitch!" growled Brock.

 _Sing-thump!_

Melanie's jaw dropped in horror at the sight of Brock stabbing Coco square in the chest with a large knife, piercing her heart through her sternum. The pallor overcame her shocked expression, and she fell to the floor as she grasped onto dear life with the knife in her heart. The life left her eyes, and Melanie transmuted quickly out of the way as Brock left the room. When she went back to her original position, she whistled loud enough to catch his attention, and his eyes widened.

"You there! Stop!"

He was coerced to stay put like an obedient dog by its owner, and maintain eye contact, she went on her tiptoes to grab a lit candle from the wall sconce, holding it in her hand and transmuting to be right in front of him. She took the flame to his clothing and it caught fire. Brock started to yelp a series of screams as he was gradually consumed by the flames. He ran toward where the party was, attracting enough attention to make people scream and avoid him. As Brock toiled like an idiot under her coercion, Melanie moved quickly into the room where Coco's dead body was and knelt next to it, trying to avoid the pile of blood.

"Oh," she muttered. _There's got to be something I can do_.

She briskly did a count of three to remove the knife from Coco's bloody heart, causing slightly more spillage than there already was. Melanie knew she had it in her to right this wrong done to her. She found her annoying, yes, but not deserving of death. She put her little hands over the wound and took in several deep breaths, every exhalation visualized like pure white energy emanating from her body. It was like she was transferring her own limited life force to the woman who died before her eyes.

Then, Coco's hazel-brown eyes shot open as she gasped for air, as though she had been underwater that whole time. Melanie felt extremely dizzy, almost faint, but before she collapsed out of consciousness, she noticed the wound where she was stabbed healed over as if nothing was there. Coco, confused, looked around and then saw Melanie had fainted out cold. It was no easy task to move in her costume, but she managed to crawl over and shake the girl awake.

"Miss Melanie?" she asked. "Oh, no."

The little girl was slow to respond, but when her eyes opened, she took a deep breath: "I told you that wasn't my dad. Now maybe you'll _listen_ when I say something."

"You _saved_ my _life_!" Coco exclaimed. "How could I _ever_ repay you?!"

"Correction, I _brought_ you back. I didn't _save your life_ ," the girl revealed. "I didn't expect for it to take a toll on me, but I knew deep down I had it in me. We _do_ have lives to save, though. Those apples are filled with poison, and the clock is _ticking_!"

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _A long one for you guys! I hope you guys love this story so far. I know I do, for sure. Writing it has been so much fun. The finale of Season 8 (on which this fanfic is based)... phew, I have mixed feelings on it. I don't want to toss the baby out with the bathwater OR give spoilers, but it was a mind-full. Oh my God. I loved it and despised it at the same time._

 _If you like this and wish to see future updates, be sure to Follow and Favorite, and of course, Reviews are always appreciated! If you have suggestions, put them. By all means, I'd love to throw in some ideas from readers. THANK YOU so much!_


	8. Ch 8 - Salvation & Reunion

**Chapter 8: Salvation & Reunion**

Misty could not believe her ears – while the party was ablaze downstairs in the outpost, Michael had resurrected her, hopefully for a final time, and explained everything that happened as best he could. He began with Miriam, telling her about how a robotic likeness was made of her and how she became so fond of Melanie as a granddaughter; how she had assisted him as a single parent during the earliest part of her life. He explained to her how nuclear holocaust had wiped out almost all of humanity save for the survivors of this and two other international outposts; how he had orchestrated it with the Cooperative because it was his purpose, as the Antichrist, to wipe the slate clean and start civilization anew. He talked about their daughter a little, but Misty was more concerned with and distraught at knowing the world practically ended.

"W-What is outside?"

"Nothing but radiation in the air and soil, feral cannibals, air in which if you breathed it without a suit and mask on, you would suffocate," he explained gravely.

Misty shook her head: " _why_? Why would you ruin such a beautiful creation as nature? So, you could… kill everyone off?"

"The world is _ours_ to rule. This is exactly why I was put on this earth, and perhaps it is _your_ purpose as well to rule by my side," he said fiercely with pride.

Misty shook her head and started to cry, realizing it was all starting to sink in: "you should'a kept me in Hell. I don't wanna live in a world like this… so much death… all rot and _black_ …" She started to sob heavily, pouring her heart out into every cry and whine. "W-What 'bout Melanie? How has she been survivin' in all this _mess_?"

He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down at her as she sobbed: "she is a _strong_ little girl. She is very stubborn and even a bit spoiled at times, but she is _strong_." He paused. "She's developed so… rapidly. It's more than I could ever imagine for someone of her age."

She let out a sob of concern for her daughter: "my poor girl… w-why did you remove that mirror from Hell?"

"Mirror?"

"The black mirror?" Misty reminded him. "Y-You put it up, so I can see what's goin' on up _here_. I _know_ you took it away… but _why_?"

"I _refused_ to make you feel uneasy that whole time in Hell if you knew what kinds of things were happening up here," he explained. "I did it to _protect you_ , the same reason I didn't bring you back all this time. If you were brought back, you would have died in the blasts for sure."

"Cordelia… Zoe…" Misty muttered. " _Stevie_ …" Her heart broke at the thought of her idol and friend, the White Witch. "Please tell me they're all alive!"

"No."

"WHAT?!"

"They died in the blasts, Misty," he confessed.

"NO!" she let out a scream of defeat, crying even heaver as she laid sideways on the bed. Michael tried to console her, shaking his head. Deep down, he felt bad keeping her away from her daughter, keeping all of this from her, but he also knew this was how it was set to be. It's done and over.

"Misty…" She felt his hand graze her arm, and she lashed. He'd never seen her so furious in all the time knowing her.

"GET YOUR _FILTHY_ MITTS OFF ME!"

He got off the bed that they were sitting on, and stood, looking down at his crying, distraught, and traumatized wife sob uncontrollably on the bed. He shook his head and felt his own heart break a little bit. He did not like to see any people he loved in any pain, but he knew he was in the right to do it because of the reasons he said. Would it have just been better to keep her down in Hell, dead and at peace? After all, the mortal coil was now not that different from the nether realms.

* * *

Coco and Melanie made it back to the party briskly, only to find Brock had collapsed, partially in flames, on the floor. The fact that he was on fire terrorized the survivors, but Miriam and another guard of the outpost came to extinguish him and remove his now freshly-charred corpse from their sight. Before they could, Coco waved her hand, picking up her skirt to get their attention.

"He _killed_ me!" she exclaimed.

"What?" Miriam asked.

"This little girl _saved my life_ , and damn it, if she says don't eat those apples, then I will _not_ ," the blonde woman declared. Venable, who looked on from a distance, had finally had enough of the little girl and her interference. Now, it mattered not if she risked a death sentence from her father if she had her taken away from the room.

"Mrs. Mead," she ordered, prompting Miriam to pay attention to her like a subservient slave. "Take this insolent child out of our sight!"

The little girl was in so much shock. Everyone stared at her as Miriam seemed to manhandle Melanie, leaning down and clutching a handful of her soft golden curls while holding her arms together at the elbows with the other. The girl started to scream, trying to struggle out of her grip. She could not believe what was happening, especially the fact that the woman she considered to be her grandmother was handling her in such a rough, penalizing fashion. Her scalp began to burn, which made her banshee-like screams even more ear-piercing.

"SHE'S TRYING TO POISON YOU, EVERYONE! I WARNED YOU!" she shouted at the top of her tiny lungs. "SHE WANTS TO KILL YOU! DON'T EAT THOSE APPLES! DON'T!"

Coco tried to interfere with Melanie's sudden capture: "let her go, damn you! She saved my life!"

"And she's nothing but trouble," Venable said, on the verge of slapping her across the face. "Ever since she got here, she has done everything to rebel and resist authority, all because she's _Langdon's daughter_."

Melanie was still being taken out of the common room when she was strong enough to budge out of Miriam's robotic grip, enough to wave her hand in the direction of where the bucket of water and apples stood. With barely any effort she made the bucket tip over, water spilling out all over the floor with the apples either splatting on impact or rolling away from where the water poured. The survivors in costume all gasped at the sight – they could not believe it, but Venable was even angrier, caning rapidly to follow Miriam with Melanie in her grip. The survivors all watched from the common room until the three were far enough down a hallway to be away from them. Melanie had stopped screaming by this point, but she was still so scared; too scared, even, to use her powers.

"You think you're smart," Venable snided, slowly pulling the top of the girl's hair to the point where she screamed like a banshee; she screamed so loudly, she was shocked no one came to her aid from the party, let alone her father.

" _OWWWW!_ " she cried out, tears falling from her face.

"You are the most selfish, crude, spoiled, insolent child I have ever had the displeasure of meeting," she seethed, smacking the girl across the face so hard it left a mark. Melanie was reading Venable's thoughts like rapid fire, too much to process all at once: _"it's strangely satisfying… dispensing punishment…I love that 'I can't believe this is happening to me' look that they get on their faces… almost makes me tingle… hers is just priceless…_ "

"No, Venable!"

Miriam stepped right in, seeming to snap out of any robotic trance she was under, pulling her away so fast she almost hit the wall behind her on the opposite side of the hallway. Melanie, for the first time in as long as she could remember, felt weak and powerless. She crouched down to the floor and started to cry, burying her face between her knees as she heard nothing but three loud pop sounds.

 _Pow! Pow! Pow!_

She was afraid to look up just yet, but when she did, she saw that Venable was shot in the chest three times, collapsing on the floor to her death. Melanie's heart accelerated, suddenly feeling weak as she noticed a pistol still in Miriam's hand. Was there some fault in her programming that made her snap out of "guard mode"? She was confused.

"Grandma?" she muttered. "What…"

"She had it coming," Miriam said. "I was loyal to her, but…" Her deep, dark blue eyes looked down at the scared little girl, whose eyes met hers, "the minute she put her hands on you, I knew I had to do away with her."

"I'm glad you did. I _hated_ her," the girl said. "But why did you manhandle me?"

"Melanie, I am _so sorry_ ," she said with true remorse. "I was programmed to be a guard for this place. When you and your father left to tour the outposts the world over, I had no other purpose. I had to have certain memories on the very bottom of a very long list of things I could do or feel or even say."

She stood up slowly, and Miriam reached for her hand. The girl hesitantly took it – it was harder to read an android's mind because she technically did not have a soul. She was just a perfect likeness to the person she was made to emulate.

"So, now you remember?" Melanie asked. "I'm Melanie? I was a baby, you took care of me."

"Oh yes," she said. "I remember _now_. It's all coming back. Information overload."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You did _nothing_ wrong," Miriam smiled. "She wanted them all dead."

They began to walk down the hallway, hoping to reach a staircase. "Why?" Melanie asked.

"Because she did not get picked to go to the sanctuaries," Miriam stated. "She told me herself. She wasn't fit, anyways. It was out of spite."

"I know she wasn't. How horrible to kill innocent people just because you didn't get your way. Who'd have known?" Melanie pondered. "Are we going up to my father?"

"Yes. That is the plan."

"What about the party? The others?"

"Oh, they know not to eat the apples. You made your point _very_ clear," Miriam said encouragingly.

The two walked up a spiral staircase leading to the Purple suites, which included the suite she shared with her father. Michael had been standing outside of the door, leaning against it. He heard the familiar footsteps, and saw the huge red handprint on his daughter's face. He immediately walked over and crouched to her level, taking a look at the violent handiwork.

"Who did this to you?" he snapped.

"Venable," Melanie said spitefully.

"She's gone too far!" he growled. "I'm going to-"

"Son, relax," Miriam said. "I took care of her."

He was puzzled, looking at Melanie and then back at her. He also was puzzled as to how she was able to remember him after all that time, being an android; "she's…dead?"

"Good riddance," Melanie muttered. "I hated her. She deserved it. She tried to kill everyone by poisoning apples and having them eat them. I saw it coming, I warned everyone. I made the bucket with the apples fall down, and she made Grandma manhandle me, and Venable pulled my hair and hit me, and…"

Miriam nodded, finishing her sentence: "I shot her three times."

 _She has telekinesis, too_ , he thought to himself, straightening his back and looking down at his daughter and then at Miriam. He held Melanie so tightly to him that the already-bent makeshift fairy wings on her costume bent even more. He patted her golden curls gently and released her, looking her straight in the eyes.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet," he said with delight hidden in his voice as he rose and took his daughter's hand. He looked at Miriam, including her; "and as for you, this is a very long-overdue introduction."

Melanie got excited as she willingly followed her father into their suite with Miriam right behind them. He opened the door, and looked at the tall, slender woman with the golden curls sitting there and adjusting the shawl he had procured for her. She had wrapped it around the waist of her nightgown, and it suddenly didn't look like bed clothing anymore. The woman was still barefoot, but it added to her overall-innocent air.

"Misty," Michael said, knocking on the surface of the open door to the bedroom as they made it there. "It's the moment you've been waiting for. Look who I have here."

The newly-resurrected Misty set her eyes on the little girl, looking at her with such shock her face blanched. She slightly shook her head, trying to process what was in front of her. She had been down in hell for two years; no way it had been two years with the way Melanie looked. She looked more like a six-year-old going on seven, and even more curious was the fact she resembled her so much. With her small diamond jawline, bright blue eyes, and golden curls to her shoulders, Melanie was almost a perfect splitting image of her mother. Misty rose from her seat on the bed and looked down curiously at the girl who was supposed to be her daughter. Melanie gasped at just how tall her mother was; standing five-foot-eight, she was slightly shorter than her father but towered over her three-foot-seven. She crouched to meet the girl at eye level, and Melanie kept a friendly countenance with the woman even as she held her face in both of her hands, feeling the cool metal of the rings she was wearing against her skin.

"I can't believe it," she muttered in her soft Southern twang.

"Can't believe what?" Melanie answered. Misty also did not expect for her daughter to be talking like she did; when she spoke, Melanie gave of an air of sophistication and eloquence far beyond her years.

Misty looked up at Michael, and also wondered about the middle-aged woman with the black pixie cut next to him: "how long have I been in Hell for?"

"Two years, Misty," he said.

"There's no way she's two years old," she replied.

"That I am," Melanie confirmed.

"No, you ain't two years old. You're… _six_ or _seven_ ," Misty protested, trying not to hurt the girls' feelings or upset her. The girl was more intrigued by the accent she spoke with. She had never heard anyone talk like that during her lifetime.

"What's with your voice?" she asked. "You talk so strange."

Michael chuckled under his breath and shook his head; Miriam remained silent, watching the reunion of mother and daughter.

"It ain't strange," she said. "I… am from Louisiana. I was raised just outside'a Lafayette."

"I know you're scared," Melanie said, penetrating her mother's soul with her gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, you did nothin' wrong," Misty replied, looking at her daughter with a smile. "I just… gotta get used to all this, I guess."

Melanie looked back at her father and smiled slighty: "so this is my mother?"

"It is," Michael confirmed. "She is your mother."

"How did you…"

Melanie looked over to see a circle of candles with a bowl of fire in the middle of it. It made sense now; he had done some type of ritual to bring her back. She nodded with understanding and looked at Misty, whose smile turned to confusion. The little girl took the liberty to confirm her identity with things only she herself would know.

"My name is Melanie Macaria Langdon, the only daughter of Michael Langdon. I was born in the springtime, May 2, 2019, in a large white mansion. I had a few women take care of me during my lifetime, because you had died. You had bled to death," she explained. "You are here now because my father brought you back. He brought you back for me, but also, so the world may know you as well."

"I don't… understand," Misty said, looking up at Michael after hearing Melanie say the last part.

"Every king needs a queen, a consort," Michael explained, his voice dancing suavely. "You are the _only_ woman fit for the job."

"I am, too," Miriam said, feeling a little left out; she had raised Michael in a former life. Why wasn't she given the honor instead of Misty? Michael turned around and smiled.

"Oh, you have a very special place in my kingdom as well," he said with a smile. "Aside from Misty, you have been the only woman to never leave my side."

 _Ain't like I had a choice. You fed me food to keep me down there_ , Melanie sensed off Misty's thoughts in that moment. She looked at her mother with confusion, but did not say anything because she didn't want to incite conflict between her parents.

"Misty?"

The resurrected ward of Michael walked over to Miriam and smiled courteously down at her, taking one of her hands into her own two to introduce herself. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm Misty."

"My wife," Michael said proudly, flashing a warm stare over at her. "Do you remember when I told you about her?"

Miriam found herself nodding as the memory programmed presented itself: "oh… yes. Melanie's mother. I do remember."

"Dad?" Melanie cut in. "Now that… the _family_ is all together…what's next?"

He looked down at her: "well, what do _you_ suspect is next?"

She thought for a moment, and expressed her thoughts aloud: "what about the survivors downstairs? The party is still going on… unless they're cleaning the mess I made."

"We have to select who goes with us, and who doesn't," Michael said.

"What if… everyone deserves a fair chance because they each have different qualities they could bring to the sanctuary?" Melanie proposed. "Is the fate of humanity worth letting whatever few people left die?"

"Who are your first picks to join us?" Michael asked. Misty and Miriam looked at each other; the swamp witch did not know what to make of the exchange.

"Mallory," Melanie said, listing a few others. "Dinah, Coco… I brought _her_ back downstairs."

Michael's eyes widened slightly at his daughter: "what?"

"Some guy had snuck into the outpost," she explained. "He was all in black, she thought it was _you_ , but I tried to tell her it wasn't. She didn't listen to me. She took him to a room, and he took off his mask and hood, and he was _covered_ in tumors and lesions, like the lady and her sons we saw on the way here."

"Then what happened?"

"He was… named Brock. From Santa Monica, he mentioned. A… boyfriend? Coco apologized to him for leaving him behind, and he stabbed her right in the heart. When he left, I got out of the way, and… I killed him."

Michael's eyes widened with amazement at his daughter: "how?" Misty was more so shocked and disappointed at this off to the side, looking at Melanie in horror.

"I took a candle off the wall and made him stay there. I transmuted closer to him, and I set his costume on fire with it. He didn't even flinch. He ran down the hallway, and he burned to death," she explained.

 _Concilium_ , he thought. "Tell me about Coco."

"I don't know _how_ I did it," she explained, "but something inside told me I _could_. I put my hands over her chest, the wound, and I breathed out white mist… into the air… I got dizzy, but she started to gasp for air. I fainted, but she woke me up."

"So that was you who set him on fire?" Miriam asked. "I would have taken care of it because that was what I was trained for."

"Yes, but… he _killed_ her, Grandma! He deserved it!" the little girl declared righteously. "I don't like killing, but I _had_ to, just like _you_ had to kill that _witch_ Venable."

"Power of resurgence," Misty muttered.

"Huh?"

She looked down at her daughter and took her hand: "you have what I got. Resurgence. The ability to reach into that place where souls go upon death, and bring it back here, to _this_ place."

"I have it, too," Michael said. "You got it from us _both_."

"So… what about the survivors?" Melanie asked, probing for an answer.

* * *

She got her answer when Michael ordered Misty to get dressed into something more presentable. Melanie was still in her costume, and Miriam was in her Black guard uniform. He helped Misty find a garment that not only suited her, but accentuated her innocent, sweet aura. In the closet, he found a white Edwardian-styled ankle length dress with lace trim on the sleeves, hem, and folded collar. It was a change from the black she often wore down in the nether world, but before she got dressed, she was able to get clean with a quick shower before putting on any undergarments. Because she was only wearing a bra, panties, and stockings, the dress was quite translucent. When she was fully dressed, he took the liberty to gently neaten her hair, tying it back with the same plain black ribbon that Melanie had used a few days before. To tie it all together, he put a Georgian-style necklace on her that was assembled with bright garnets. Misty looked at herself in the mirror, her husband behind her smiling with pride before he planted a kiss on the side of her neck.

"Cheer up, my love," he whispered in her ear. "You'll never be in Hell ever again. We are soon headed to Paradise."

The four made it down the stairs, where they found all of the survivors congregated in disbelief. Not only did they need to clean up the mess made with the tipping of the apple-bobbing bucket, they also were still shook about seeing Brock, engulfed in flames running around the party, terrorizing them. Furthermore, one of them found Venable laying dead in the hallway from the gunshots inflicted by Miriam. The first words in the scene came from Melanie.

"Well, you've all come to your senses, I see," she chuckled.

"I wasn't going to eat those apples," Coco said, "especially if the girl who brought me back told me it was a bad idea."

"Why is Venable dead?" Dinah asked.

"She deserved it. _Duh_ ," the little girl said facetiously.

"Mrs. Mead was following orders," Michael declared, raising his hand to exert his ultimate authority over the small crowd. Everyone fell silent, their eyes fixed on him but alternating curiously when they noticed the woman in white standing next to him, Misty.

"May I ask a question?" Mr. Gallant asked, coming forward.

"Yes."

"Who is she?" he wondered, pointing at Misty.

"I am Misty Day," she said.

"Your _queen_ ," Michael added.

"So, who is going to the sanctuaries?" asked Andre.

"You all are being given the chance to join us," he announced. Before the small crowd could roar in delight, he continued. "My daughter has a fair point. Venable was going to kill you all with those apples, so why have any of you die when you all could bring something _unique_ and _original_ to humanity as we know it?"

"Oh my God, are you serious?!" Mr. Gallant exclaimed with excitement.

"There is _one_ condition," the Antichrist announced.

"Name it," Dinah said.

"That you all accept me as your Lord, Savior, and King," he announced, outstretching his arms with his curved palms facing the sky. "Fall to your knees, and I shall bring you to the table as my loyal subjects."

"And if we don't?" Mallory asked shyly.

Michael looked over at the Gray servant and sighed, shaking his head as he spoke with eerie calmness: "then you will stay here, and you will die, wishing you had the chance to bow to my feet while feral cannibals come knocking. It will be as I declared before. You down one of those pills I had my daughter distributed in phials, and you go to sleep, never to wake up again."

Coco and Dinah were the first to move forward toward the landing of the stairs, looking up at Michael, but Coco focused more on Melanie, the mysterious little girl who had given up some of her own life force to bring her back from the very precipice of death. She noticed and smiled back at her as she slowly curtseyed in her large-hooped gown. Dinah did the same but got on her knees and bowed her head in deep reverence. Melanie read Coco's soul clear as day: " _She saved my life, gave it back to me… if this is how I'll repay her, then so be it_."

"I accept Misty as my Queen," she muttered. Michael smiled back to his wife, whose bright eyes looked on in shock. She went from humble hillbilly stock from a backwoods Pentecostal community, to ward at Miss Robicheaux's to a hell-bound bride to a mother and now, to a queen of some kingdom needing official establishment. She had come back from the dead once more to meet her daughter for the first time, only to see she was aging three times more than a normal human, and her mother in-law was basically a robot. _I need to sit down_ , she thought to herself.

Mr. Gallant came next, taking a knee and bowing at the landing when Dinah and Coco moved aside. Then came Timothy and Emily, who both looked up at Melanie, who nodded with approval, prompting them to bow in reverence to their new ruler. After a few Gray servants also bowed to Michael without question, Mallory was the last to present herself before Michael, Misty, and Melanie, as well as Miriam, who stood on the opposite side of where Misty was in relation to Michael. She looked at the little girl, who watched with anticipation. She sensed hesitation off the Gray, and saw sloppy, wet tears start to roll down her cheek. She was startled when Miriam's voice seemed to boom through the foyer near the staircase.

" _IMBECILE!_ " she shouted. "Bow before your King!"

Mallory shut her eyes briefly and nodded, getting on her knees as if to pray. Melanie read her soul and felt a pang in her heart with what she sensed: " _If I don't, I'll die. I have to live. I have to get into one of the sanctuaries. I don't know WHY I have such a drive to live. I can't explain it, but I HAVE to survive. If anything, I will only bow for Melanie. If she ever takes over, she is the only one I would willingly serve_."

Miriam clapped her hands three times, and Michael smiled, knowing that the world was officially his to own, rule, and conquer. Misty was still in shock at everything that had happened within those few hours. Melanie had a satisfied smile on her face, but she knew that the only reason Mallory and Coco bowed was for her. After all, Coco needed some way to repay her for bringing her back from the dead.

"I will alert the Cooperative to send over enough transport for everyone here," Michael said, "so that we may go to the sanctuary just an hour away. As of now, there are provisions to last us another ten years, but there could be more if we figure out a way to sustain everyone."

" _AVE SATANAS! AVE SATANAS! AVE SATANAS!_ " chanted Miriam ceremoniously, prompting the rest of the crowd to follow suit.

Michael was simply bathing in the glory that was at his feet. Melanie could sense the devotion in the room from the lives she saved from Venable's twisted plans. Misty was scared by the word " _Satanas_ " – it went against everything she ever believed or was brought up into, being a Christian woman. She simply watched at her side, seeing Michael inhale the energy they all exuded from their chanting, raising his arms to signify his absolute power.


	9. Ch 9 - Regnum Infernale

_WARNING: Discretion is advised; adult content toward the end of this chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Regnum Infernale**

The survivors of Outpost 3 were instructed to start packing as soon as they could, as the transport would be ready to get them in a few days. For Melanie, this was quite an easy task – she had most of her belongings that she took with her still in the chest, the same went for Michael. The transport also came with extra anti-radiation suits for the survivors, who were instructed to put them on when they were making their way out of the outpost. Misty had some extra help putting on hers when the day arrived – she couldn't believe the world had come to this point; having to put on suits because the air and soil were too toxic to do without one. As far as the amount of transportation, there happened to be just enough room for everyone – Michael, Misty, Melanie and Miriam got their own travel car, while the rest were fit into the other two. One travel car was the size of a small bus but resembled a cargo container or a caboose. They endured the long trip back to the sanctuary near Los Angeles, where the sanctuary in question was waiting for them.

The sanctuary in this location was one, indeed, in every sense of the word. It was built on three square miles and was located mostly underground but with the first quarter of the structure built with light blue-tinted metallic glass walls to allow a view of the outside world; this was to give the survivors the illusion that it was a bright, clear, sunny day during daylight hours even though it was quite the contrary outside. The glass was also formulated to allow UV light to come in and shine on the flora growing within the sanctuary at that part of it. Going further, there were residential and recreational compounds in ultra-modern buildings with a clean, crisp style of architecture. A waterfall was in the back of the first quarter of the sanctuary, leading to a marsh-like pond that spread for a few yards toward the direction of the entrance. At the top of the compound nearest the waterfall was the permanent residence of Michael and his family.

When they entered after decontamination and removal of their suits, Michael led the way with his family and the survivors behind him. They all were in awe of the beauty of this sanctuary. Melanie had been here before when she and her father returned to the former United States from an outpost in Bora Bora, which has since been abandoned, as was the one near London so that the survivors selected could be brought to one of the sanctuaries. A few Cooperative employees in black greeted Michael with a bow and not much else as they continued upkeep. Misty smiled at her surroundings; everything looked so majestic. She was expecting fire and brimstone, but frankly, this was the opposite; this truly was Paradise. Melanie looked up at her mother as they walked through the sanctuary.

"Isn't this grand, mother?" she asked.

"I ain't never seen anythin' so… _wild_ ," Misty smiled, speaking softly in her Southern drawl. "It's beyond anythin' I could'a imagined."

"It's like the Garden of Eden!" Mr. Gallant exclaimed. "This is our reward for _not_ eating those apples! HAHA!" His haughty laugh drew Melanie's attention. _Naw, really_ , she thought.

Then, Miriam stopped and went in front of Michael, who also stopped so the rest could follow suit and pay attention to what had to be said. She began with a command to test their loyalty to their new Master in every sense of their word – though for convenience sake, he was their King.

"Bow!"

Everyone sunk to their knees save for Misty and Melanie, who walked up to Michael to be near him. The little girl took her mother's hand and her movements toward her father insisted they join him. Once they did, Melanie got a good look at everyone who bowed in submission to the rule of her family.

"Rise…but remain on your knees!" They did so, all in unison, looking up at Miriam as she continued: "The King and Queen will be having a coronation ceremony and celebration right after it occurs. It will take place in the Great Hall just up this pathway to the compounds in two days time. Attendance is mandatory, as is formal dress. My associates will give you tours of the compounds and the sanctuary."

A total of three Cooperative guards came to collect the survivors in groups to tour the sanctuary, leaving just the four elite members of their society there. Michael kept his eyes on Misty, who looked around at the natural scenery long and well, smiling with admiration. He took in a breath of air through his nose, exhaling as he started to speak.

"I painstakingly made sure this sanctuary, our home, would have natural scenery," he said. "I know you loved the swamp."

"It was my home," she said with sad nostalgia.

"You could even have a garden," he permitted. "Whatever your heart desires. This is all _ours_ , after all. We not only own the sanctuary and the Cooperative, but we own everyone as well."

"But they aren't slaves, mom," Melanie said reassuringly, sensing her apprehension while smiling up at her and holding her hand. "They are our _subjects_. You are going to be Queen! Not like those _wimpy_ queens from the storybooks. A _real_ Queen, mom."

 _It ain't like they got a choice to submit_ , Misty thought as Melanie sensed it off her, _if they don't, they die. I can't even imagine what Michael would do_.

"Indeed, she would be," Michael said, coming to her side and clutching her waist with his arm. "She will make a fine Queen."

"Wait, if you are King, dad, and mom is Queen," Melanie speculated. "What am _I_?"

Michael crouched down to eye level toward Melanie and put his hands on her shoulders and smiled, peering into her eyes: "Her Infernal Highness, the Princess of Regnum Infernale."

* * *

The coronation ceremony was a grand affair, and the survivors even lent a hand in setting up for it. It was the dictionary definition of a utopia, but the flaws were yet to come to the surface. Survivors from the other three sanctuaries travelled quite far to also attend the event, accepting Michael as their Lord, Savior, Master and King. The Grand Hall was a communal space that was quite grand with a chandelier, fire pits, and seats set up like a music hall with a stage elevated above them. This would be the focal point for the coronation, as Michael, Misty and Melanie would be standing on it as Miriam was the one to put the crowns on their heads; all except for Melanie, for she was a special case.

The family's attire was grand and luxurious – Michael was clad in a black oversized cape jacket with red lining and a red shirtwaist over a crimson dress shirt. On his skinny legs was a pair of black pants, and he wore black leather boots to his knees. Misty's first public appearance as Queen of Regnum Infernale was memorable as it was, but her ensemble was even more noteworthy – a cranberry-colored evening gown with a wide skirt and lace sleeves with exposed shoulders in the style of neckline. However, she was accessorized and decently covered with a black silk shawl. Her golden curls were up in a neat chignon, and she was wearing relatively natural makeup save for a smokey eye reminiscent of the late White Witch she so adored. She wore the crimson garnet statement necklace that Michael gifted to her before they left the outpost, adding to the look. Melanie was also dressed in red, a child's evening gown with translucent floral lace sleeves. The skirt was not too puffy, and her curls were neatly styled; loose, but with twisting in the front of her hand. Miriam was in a black evening gown with a capelet covering her shoulders, accessorized with black satin gloves, bright diamond bracelets, and a matching statement necklace.

The coronation took place starting at 6PM sharp two nights after they arrived at the sanctuary. There was an abundance of extra suites in the compounds, where the other survivors were allowed to stay as they travelled through risk of radiation toxicity and suffocating air just to see the King they surrendered to crowned. Once two Cooperative guards ceremoniously silenced everyone with three wraps to the floor with canes, the procession took place in this order – Miriam, holding an ornate black velvet pillow upon which rested the silver crowns of the King, Queen, and a circlet for Melanie. They walked in that order toward the stage, and as they walked, they were admired by those in the end seats and given compliments. Misty thanked everyone on the way, whereas Melanie knew that she could always do that later in the after party. Even without a crown, Michael had the air of a king, his silky gold locks flowing as he walked, his cape moving suavely as he moved apace toward the stage. Once they were on it, there was excessive cheering from the nearly 100-people left in existence, even from the Cooperative guards on duty. Michael basked in their glory for a moment, before raising his hand with intention to signify silence before he took a seat on the throne made especially for him. Misty followed suit with hers, as did Melanie, whose throne was much smaller.

"Our King has arrived, and we shall rejoice," announced Miriam. "The prophecy has been fulfilled! 'Then I saw a beast with ten horns and seven heads rising out of the sea, and all who dwell upon the Earth shall worship him! And the sun became as black and sackcloth with hair, and the whole moon became as blood, and the stars fell from the Heavens to the Earth, for the great day of wrath has come.'"

After some more grandiose speeches about the coming of the Antichrist to Earth, Miriam picked up the crown meant for Michael and raised it up high for everyone to see before placing it on his head slowly. As it was lowered, he felt his power amplify, and the anticipation of the audience just flooded his consciousness. The crown for Misty was slightly smaller, and it was placed on her head in the same exact fashion – she felt like a queen, indeed, but the associations with what she became queen of scared her to death. Lastly, was Melanie's circlet, but Michael rose from his throne first and took the liberty to 'crown' his daughter as princess. He gestured the little girl to rise and she walked slowly over to her father. She carefully knelt, her bright blue eyes looking out at the audience as Michael stood behind her, raising the silver circlet high in the air just as Miriam did with his crown, and lowering it onto her small head. Melanie's eyes were closed as he placed the circlet, and they opened when the act was done, and rose to her feet once again.

"All rise," Miriam announced, her voice booming. The three newly-coronated royals faced their subjects as they were announced one by one.

Michael's title was "His Supreme Excellency and Infernal Majesty, King of Regnum Infernale."

Misty's was similar, but more suited to her: "Her Infernal and Gracious Majesty, Queen of Regnum Infernale."

Melanie's title, announced last by Miriam, was "Her Infernal Highness, the Princess of Regnum Infernale"

Michael said his first words as sovereign to his subjects, speaking out with his piercing blue-green eyes darting at the audience: "The seventh seal has been broken. Wormwood has fallen from the sky and turned the rivers into blood and fire. The bottomless pit has been opened, and my swarms of locusts and scorpions have ravaged humanity, save for all of you here. The world has been remade in my father's image, and I shall upkeep it as such. That is my first promise to you, as your Lord, Savior, Master and King."

"AVE SATANAS!" she declared.

Without even being told, all present for the coronation bowed in reverence for the new monarchs, chanting "Ave Satanas" over and over. Misty was a bit unsettled, not used to this yet, so she faked a smile and held her daughter's hand. Melanie could tell by how tightly she gripped her hand that she was not feeling good about any of this. _Maybe the celebration after will cheer her up_ , she thought.

The entire sanctuary was free to roam, but the focus of the after party was the Grand Hall itself. Some of the chairs which could be removed were removed to make room for dancing and dining by Cooperative guards. Refreshments included hors d'oeuvres of foods most of the survivors had not seen since the bombs dropped. Luxuries like caviar and canapés were served, and for a main course were hot rolls, pork roast, vegetables grown in the agricultural center of the sanctuary; yet for the King and Princess, something even more special was prepared – semi-raw goat heart halves garnished with parsley, served with a side of a medley consisting of kidney and tongue slices. She was in shock, looking at her father as she lifted the dome to her meal.

"How did they get the goat?" she asked.

"You know we have ways of getting things," he said. "Remember I showed you the cows, pigs, chickens, and all the animals in the agricultural center?"

"Oh, right," she said, taking a bit of some of the raw organs she was served.

Up until roughly 11PM, the newly-appointed royals joined in the festivities with their subjects. After dinner, everyone was dancing and drinking fine red and rosé wines, kept hidden by the Cooperative well before the nuclear holocaust. Misty was not one to drink alcohol, but at Michael's insistence, she drank half a glass that he poured for her himself. Yet all she could think of was their hellish wedding ceremony, where she was made to drink wine tainted with his blood to bind her to him for all eternity. As for Melanie, who was curious about the red beverage, she had asked to try some.

"No, you're too young! Don't they got juice or somethin'?" her mother protested.

"There were too many rules in the old world," Michael said, trying to reassure his wife as he poured his daughter a shot glass of wine from his cup. "Those dealing with underage drinking were amongst the most ridiculous." He passed Melanie her cup. "There."

She took and sip and nodded; "not bad."

"Don't grow up _too_ fast on me," he chuckled suavely. Melanie knew he was kidding; _I can't help it. I looked in the mirror today and feel a year older_.

* * *

Misty was in her underclothes when they retired for the evening to their private compound. It was fairly simple compared to the typical palace a royal family would live in, but it was much better and more spacious than the other suites their subjects lived in. She had joined her daughter in her room, cuddling with her on the bed while music played on the radio in the background. Despite that, they could still hear the roaring revelries outside – Michael had instructed his subjects to keep partying and celebrating for as long as they wished, but until sunrise was more ideal. This was also Melanie's first-ever exposure to Stevie Nicks; amongst Missy Elliot, Jennifer Lopez, Britney Spears, and other big-name pop artists, this woman's voice was a gem to behold, its magic soothing her soul.

"Mom," she said, resting her head on her mother's abdomen, against the satin of her white slip.

"Yes, sweetheart?" Her fingers rested on top of her daughter's soft, silky curls.

Melanie looked up at her with her bright blue eyes: "tell me something and please, be honest." She sighed. "Why were you so… scared to be crowned Queen?"

Misty took a moment to think before she responded to her daughter: "when you're as big as me, and know what I been through, you'd understand why."

"What do you mean?"

"I think I should wait to tell you when you're older," her mother said.

"No," the girl protested, sitting up and looking down at her persuasively. "I asked you. You have to tell me. _Please_."

"This ain't something I wanna talk about right now," Misty said, trying to keep herself calm.

The next thing Melanie said really made her face blanche with shock, and her blood run cold: "you have killed before, haven't you?"

She stayed silent, and steadied her breathing, but there was no point because her daughter could see through all of it: "w-what do you mean? For what?"

"Maybe because people didn't respect what you held dear?" Melanie pondered. "Or alongside others to defend not only yourself, but those other people."

She looked down, not sure whether to be shocked at her daughter's piercing curiosity and probing questions, or the fact that she had such a thing on her mind at a young age. Melanie looked into her mother's eyes and could see past the overall pleasant air about her mother. She had killed three people, but in ways that she herself would agree with. Melanie, unlike her father, only felt the need to kill if justice had to be served or if she was personally threatened in any way. Brock, the man covered in lesions who killed Coco back at the outpost, was one such example and the only one in her life so far whom she killed. She had one vision of Misty indirectly killing what looked to be two hunters by resurrecting their kills to devour them and take their remains into the swamp. The next vision she had as she peered into her mother's soul was that of a killing done by not just Misty, but several other young women, stabbing a man to death. On closer realization, Melanie learned that this man deserved it because he was a mass murderer trapped in the mortal coil during that time.

"I…"

"You're not a saint, mom. In fact, you are not much different than me and dad," the little girl stated bluntly. "That's saying a lot. Dad would kill anyone, and I mean _anyone_ , who would get in his way."

Misty nodded slowly, understanding her daughter's point of view. "I never said I was a saint. I did kill before… but they deserved it. When… I was still livin' in the swamp, I killed two poachers. They hung up their kills, gators. They even tried to kill _me_ , and by then, I'd already brought myself back. I… brought back their kills and the gators ate 'em up."

"Hold on," the little girl halted, "you _brought yourself back_?"

"I was burned alive," Misty said. "I told you I was raised in Louisiana, outside Lafayette?"

"Yeah?" _I don't really know where that is, not that it matters_ , she thought.

"Yup, little Pentecostal community in the backwoods. Back then, I'd _never_ have imagined becomin' queen of some… some…"

"Regnum Infernale?" Melanie corrected promptly.

"Right, right," Misty nodded. "That's 'cause the Devil is somethin' we always tried to _fight_ off. Even though I was raised very religious and believed in God, I still had my powers. I have been able to sense evil since I was a little girl, your age. I started bringin' back dead things a little later. It was just that, that got me burned alive. I was at a revival, and I resurrected a dead bird. I felt bad, it upset me. That night, they dragged me out, and tied me up."

"How did you not get scars?" Melanie asked, looking at her mother's flawless face.

"Louisiana swamp mud, alligator dung and Spanish moss," she replied proudly with a smile. "They had amazin' healin' properties. I would'a taught you how to make it, but…"

"You put poop on your face, mom? Gross!" the little girl scoffed.

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Misty said, turning her face side to side so her daughter could understand that even though it was gross, it was potent in healing her burns.

"Mom, how many times have you died and came back?"

Misty thought for a moment: "four times."

"How?"

"First time, I was burned alive. I brought myself back. Second, I was entombed; one of my sisters brought me back. Third time, I went down into Hell and couldn't get back… but… your father changed all that when he went down and brought me back. I spent five years down there, on a loop… it was _horrible_ ," her mother described.

"I'll bet it was, mom." Melanie was desensitized, though she had personally never been down to the underworld.

"The fourth time," Misty continued, her eyes tearing up, "was when you were born. I was in so much pain… bleedin' like a slaughtered pig. I was prayin' for swift death and I _got_ it…I went back to the underworld, until recently."

"You were down there this whole time?" Melanie questioned.

"Yes." She paused. "I…I was in a lot of pain, Melanie, but… I'd do it all over if I could."

"You really mean that?" the little girl asked skeptically.

"Yes, Melanie. I love you," she said, giving her an affectionate kiss on the forehead. She was not used to this kind of affection, as her father nor Miriam were not natured like Misty was. "It hurt me to be away from you for so long… but now that you're here, with you… I'm as happy as I can be."

Misty heard the first few notes on piano to the next track of the Stevie album she put on the radio. She smiled and started to sing along to the lyrics of _Has Anyone Ever Written Anything for You_. Melanie, tranquilized by the soft melody and beautiful, haunting lyrics, laid back on her mother's abdomen and listened to her mother singing:

" _Has anyone ever written anything for you_ _  
_ _In all your darkest hours_ _  
_ _Have you ever heard me sing_ _  
_ _Listen to me now_ _  
_ _You know I'd rather be alone_ _  
_ _Than be without you_ _  
_ _Don't you know…"_

As she listened, a memory popped into Melanie's head. As an infant of only two weeks old, she had a dream of a woman with the exact same physical features and voice as Misty baby-talking to her as though she were there. After she woke up Miriam with her happy giggling, she was picked up from the bassinet and it upset her so much she started to scream like a banshee. After this, she never saw her again in her dreams or anywhere else. She kept listening to the music:

" _And the rain comes down_ _  
_ _There's no pain and there's no doubt_ _  
_ _It was easy to say_ _  
_ _I believed in you every day_ _  
_ _If not for me_ _  
_ _Then do it for the world_ …"

Then, after one more chant of the chorus, Misty started to speak-sing the last few lines as if conveying a message to her daughter: " _so if not for me, then…do it for yourself. If not for me, then do it for the world_ …"

"There isn't much of a world left," Melanie said solemnly. "It's more like a world in a bubble, mom."

She sighed sadly: "I know…" She paused. "This is a lot to get used to. I wonder if we will ever be able to go outside again without the suits."

"We won't be alive," Melanie pondered. "Try another three to twenty thousand years. I'd estimate closer to the latter with how many nukes have gone off."

Misty sighed morosely – the outdoors was something she once relished in, and even though the inside of the sanctuary had flora and natural scenery, it was simply a cheap imitation in her eyes. She longed for the fresh air and the feeling of the grass between her toes. She even missed making her healing poultice from the ingredients she disclosed to her daughter. Gardening in the sanctuary was again, a cheap imitation. _This world ain't real anymore_ , she thought.

* * *

When the little girl was in the deepest recesses of sleep, Misty get off the bed and put a blanket on her daughter. She tip-toed out of the room and closed the door quietly before making her way across the ultra-modern, luxury open concept dining and living room to the master bedroom she shared with Michael. Before she did, she was halfway through the open concept when she looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching a glimpse of loud music and revelries outside of the compound. She heard glasses breaking, loud laughing, and even a hint of moaning in ecstasy. If this happened in the old world, someone would call the cops for disturbing the peace. In their kingdom, it was normal.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Misty turned to see Michael there, smirking at her and walking toward the window to be closer to her and peer out the window. The witch sighed, eyes downward as she fixed on three people laughing and drinking together in their own group.

"It's… strange," she said. "No one is gonna call the cops on 'em?"

"No," Michael said. "There are no cops. Just Cooperative guards to keep everyone safe and keep order."

"But… this ain't order," Misty said calmly, "at all."

"It doesn't need to be when they're celebrating. I told them to celebrate, to have fun, to amuse themselves," he explained, placing one of his hands on her shoulders as he faced her side. Admiring her side profile, he continued to speak, his hypnotic voice luring her in: "This is what my father wants… for our people to _indulge_ … drinking, feasting, dancing, _fucking_ …"

Misty gasped inaudibly at the last word he said; it sounded so dirty, but when he said it, it made her skin quiver. Michael slowly ran his fingers down the length of her arm, feeling the smooth skin and smiling. He could smell the light scent of patchouli surrounding her, and he had her gaze into his eyes with light coercion and a turn of her face to face him. He took a deep breath, and Misty found herself being slowly seduced by her temptuous husband. A chill ran over her body, and he noticed her slight shudder in his presence.

"W-Why aren't you celebrating with them?" Misty asked.

His whisper was erotic, as he moved closer to her. It was almost as if he was trying to kiss her, but he was hovering over her lips as his voice danced suavely: "I could have any woman I want as king. There are not many left, anyhow… but even then, I would still only want _you_." He then smiled devilishly. "I bet the Clinic in this sanctuary and in the others are going to be full of pregnant mothers in another month or two. Just wait and see."

"Please," Misty whined in a whisper, "don't make me die like that again."

"I won't," he promised, taking her hand and biting his lip gently, holding her hand with both of his and kissing it softly. Misty felt some kind of way, the same way as the night they consummated their marriage in the underworld, and the two subsequent times after.

He was still holding her hand, leading her to the master bedroom they shared. Misty could feel heat forming between her legs as she anticipated him. He was so kind and giving to her, despite everything, and he was no different in the bedroom. He gestured to the bed and Misty laid on her side, watching him close the door. Her bright blue eyes scanned his body – he was of slender physique, and he was just wearing his black pants; he was bare foot and shirtless. He was like some magical beast that only she could tame. His golden wavy hair fell to his shoulders gracefully. He was handsome and beautiful all at once.

Misty's heart swelled in her chest as she watched him undo his pants and join her on the bed. He was at the foot of it, and he started to kiss her ankles, moving slowly up her legs. She felt herself quiver, her nipples hardening and her panties underneath the white silk slip getting wetter. His lips trailed up her shins, back to her calves, and when he got to her knees, it was much easier to alternate between both sides. She instinctively lifted the bottom of her slip, making him smirk as he caressed her thighs, accompanying each touch with a wet peck of his lips. He softly started to suckle her skin as he began to get a hint of her feminine scent, growing closer to where her panties were wet with arousal.

"Hm… you're already wet… but you aren't ready for me," he teased, sending flutters through Misty's body.

Michael proceeded to cover Misty with his body, kissing her lips passionately before he moved lower to attack her neck with soft bites and licks. She moaned softly, and the face she made when doing so made him want her even more. He felt his erection burning in his boxers. He loved how her golden wild curls fanned around her head as she laid down, looking up at him with her bright eyes. He smirked, kissing her neck again before he traced his tongue to her collarbone. Her breasts were small but were enough to fit in his palm; he massaged them lightly through the slip, which he took down by the shoulder straps and slid off her body. Misty blushed, and he caressed from her abdomen to her collarbone, feeling the warmth of her skin.

"Hm…" he purred, moving up to kiss her breasts and gently lap at her nipples, moaning to produce vibration as Misty hummed underneath him. He put a hand over her beating heart, feeling it race underneath his palm. Somehow, it only made it beat harder and faster when he put his hand over her heart, so he moved it to her other breast, fondling it before moving his mouth over to that one.

Misty sighed in pleasure, feeling Michael's lips explore every part of her like he had done before. It was when he moved lower and fiddled with the band of her panties that she started to pant. Her body was heating up, and Michael could feel it radiating off of her. He slid her panties off and gave them a quick inhale before putting them to the side. Her scent was simply arousing to him. Situating himself between her legs, he held her hips as his tongue tasted her liquid heat, making her moan and writhe. He looked up at her as his tongue traced her inner lips teasingly, his nose in the light tuft of hair at her pubic bone. After a few minutes of doing that, he took his fingers and traced along her folds before exposing her clit to his tongue, swirling his tongue around it slowly. She yelped, gripping the sheets as his tongue began to move like rapid fire, making her even more soaked. Michael could feel this, and he took it as a sign to slide a finger into her, going in and out as his lips and tongue worked at her clit, knowing full well it made her body rock to the point of convulsion. He didn't stop until she came, but even then, he was far from finished.

"Oh… please… oh my…" Misty moaned under heavy breathing as she came down from her first climax.

Michael made eye contact with her as he lapped up her orgasm, taking his fingers out of her to stroke her slick, wet folds once more before putting them back in. This time, he made a curling motion in the direction of her belly button, making her scream as he touched her and flicked his tongue back and forth on the sensitive bundle of nerves just above her entrance.

"OH, STOP IT!" she screamed in ecstasy, her body on fire from Michael.

"Nope," he said playfully, working his mouth on her womanhood as he made her climax a second time, her juices getting on the sheets as well as his hand. He placed his free hand up on her breast, caressing down her abdomen as he removed his fingers.

He went back on top of her to cover her with his body, taking his aching, rock-hard member out of his boxers as he pulled them down. Michael was of average size, give or take, but he was thick. Without skipping a beat, he made a powerful first thrust into her, making her whimper. She still felt tight even though she had given birth, which made him growl like a tomcat in pleasure. He tried to keep his movements slow, but still hard and rough, expressing his dominance. Misty let her legs fall further open, fully accepting his girth inside her satin clutch. She was at his mercy, fully receptive and vulnerable. He was as deep as her body would let him go, and he kissed her roughly as he thrust back and forth, picking up the pace and looking down at his wife, her face in agonizing pleasure as he peppered her cheeks and neck with chaste kisses.

"Oh yes…" he purred. "Yes…"

He went faster, feeling himself about to erupt, but he held back, teasing her in the process. Considering what he was, Michael had a lot of stamina and endurance. He made this very clear when he was Misty's first – the night they consummated their marriage lasted for about two hours with only five minutes worth of a break in between. He had made sure to cause her as little pain as possible, as she was a virgin. He originally did not intend to have her in any sexual way because one reason he was drawn to her was her purity, but it was inevitable because he had married her.

He breathed against her neck, and the thrusting went on for another hour or so. To mix things up, he changed positions with her – her on top, on their sides, and doggy. The last one made Misty bite the sheets, feeling all of the right areas being hit with his thrusts. He was tempted to playfully pull her hair, but he instead caressed it, feeling it was too beautiful to pull. Michael finally let go in this position, dumping his heavy load inside her, hissing and growling under his breath as a warm chill raced through his being. He pulled out and Misty collapsed forward on the bed, resting for a bit before she had the strength to get under the sheets. Michael joined her and looked into her eyes sweetly, a drastic contrast from how he looked at his subjects.

"I love you," he uttered like it were a devotional act to a deity. "I am so honored you are my queen."

He reached to caress her face, and her response spoke to him; she kissed his palm and smiled a closed smile before falling asleep.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _Finally, a LEMON! 'Nuff said!_

 _Favorite and Follow for future updates, and be sure to leave a Review with feedback or whatever! I love interacting with my readers! Thanks as always, and stay tuned!_


	10. Ch 10 - Seed of the Devil

_WARNING: Discretion is advised, contains adult content toward the end of the chapter_.

* * *

 **Chapter 10 – Seed of the Devil**

 _2022_

The first year of Michael's reign as His Infernal Majesty, King of Regnum Infernale was quite eventful. He did not have to carry out any executions; frankly, his subjects were too much into their hedonistic lifestyles to offend their Lord and Savior. They partied as hard as they did on his coronation on Misty's birthday in February, Michael's in March, and Melanie's in May. They all were ordered to do so, and they happily obliged. For each of these occasions, they did not retire to their compound by 11PM – they stayed out the entire night; frolicking, feasting, dancing, and drinking to their heart's content. Melanie was still too young to go past one small shot glass, and Misty only had one glass of wine but downed as much food as she could handle. Some of the adults went off in groups, encouraged by their King, to have intimate group liaisons in private. To him, this was a good way to ensure that some of the women ended up pregnant, able to populate the world as they knew it.

Alas, during the first year of his sovereignty, several babies were on the way, the majority of them being in the other sanctuaries. Michael reckoned that most of them were conceived during the coronation celebrations, and only two women were confirmed pregnant in their sanctuary. Both mothers were former Grays from Outpost 3 and experienced fully human births and gestations. He had taken a trip with his daughter to the Clinic to peer into one-sided windows at the women having ultrasounds to check on the fetuses. Melanie was then taken to the lab, where she learned that samples of their DNA were kept in special databases.

"Dad… I mean, _Father_ ," she corrected herself, pointing at the screens with lists of files that, when clicked, a doctor or scientist could access information on said person's chromosomal makeup. "What's that?"

"Databases," he replied. "They hold the genetic material and makeup of everyone in the three sanctuaries."

"Including us?" she inquired.

"Yes," he said. "We have a special database separate from everyone else. That way, in the event you were to have children, and they have children, and so forth, we can trace their ancestry back to me, the first King. This is helpful especially when you have siblings."

Melanie scoffed: "siblings?"

"Brothers or sisters," he said, clarifying what he meant.

"I don't want any," she stated bluntly. "Too many empires and kingdoms from the old world have collapsed because of sibling rivalry. The stakes are too high in this world we live in today, Father." She paused. "Frankly, I'd feel bad killing my sister or brother if they were in my way in inheriting the throne."

"Yes, but, unlike the old world, _either_ a female or male child can have the throne if they are the firstborn. That is what you are. Even if you have a sibling with more powers than you, you still have the throne," he said sternly.

"What if they try to overthrow me? Or if someone overthrows _you_?" the little girl asked, a sinister look in her bright blue eyes.

"Execution," Michael said plainly.

* * *

After that day in the Clinic's nursery, Michael knew he had to make sure his daughter was well-prepared to rule in the event he or Misty could not. As promised from before, he took it upon himself to teach her about her powers, as well as hopefully develop new ones. Misty was all for this, proud of their daughter's progress and education. Each lesson was something different – one in specific, was about issue and penalties for subjects who act out of turn.

"So, I'd execute anyone who…" Melanie remembered what she was told, counting them on her fingers: "…kills someone else without reason to, treason, tries to hurt any of the royal family?"

"You're missing three," Michael smirked, holding a book in his hand which he used as a cover for what he was referencing.

"Uh…"

"I'll give you one hint," Michael caved, "do you remember the interviews at the outposts?"

"Yes."

"Think about what I would threaten to kill the interviewees over."

It'd been quite some time, but she was able to remember: "oh! I also execute someone who lies to me, or tries to trick me?"

"One more," he said.

Melanie groaned – "is it… when they hedge around something you ask of them?"

"Yes, correct."

"Don't you think that's a bit extreme, dad?" she asked. "I know for the interviews it was important, but… for subjects? Really?"

"If they hedge, it is logical to question their loyalty to you as their Queen," he suggested.

"Loyalty is with actions," Melanie challenged. "Why not have a trial to determine their innocence before they are executed, if that is their fate?"

"Did you forget you can see truths, like I can?" he said.

She nodded – "right."

"If you are sovereign in our place, you are not only Queen, but Judge," he told her.

Other lessons were the meat and potatoes of her education; her powers to that point in time included lectio animo, divination, concilium, transmutation, telekinesis, and resurgence. Her defining abilities were the first two, and he knew he had to step up his game and challenge her with more difficult tasks. He resorted to having things hidden all over the Sanctuary, much like was done at his trials of the Seven Wonders a few years before while still a student at the Hawthorn School for Boys. She found most items with ease, but some were more difficult and in hard-to-reach places. Michael even resorted to having her find very specific book titles in the Library – unlike the old world, the new world did not have libraries organized under the Dewey decimal system or genre categories. All books were random, and most were sacred or rare texts inaccessible to even the Vatican. One specific title, the _Codex of Leicester_ , was the only copy in print let alone existence at that point, and Michael ordered her to find it using divination skills. Using barely any effort, she found it in five minutes; once finding it, she transmuted to where Michael was in the Library after she remotely located him. He was startled to see her pop up so quickly in front of him, but it gave him an idea about what to practice with her next.

Transmutation was something Melanie used frequently, whether it was getting out of harm's way or to get to a location faster. Like his trials before the Seven Wonders to determine if he was an Alpha warlock, he telekinetically tossed dangerous things, like knives or bricks, at his daughter to motivate her. Motivated by fear of getting hit or wounded, she teleported effortlessly through the vicinity that was their luxurious suite. Misty stood by to watch this, and she cringed, hoping that her daughter would not get hurt. When it ended, she hugged her daughter tightly, peppering her little face with concerned kisses.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" she asked in her Southern drawl.

"Mom, I'm fine. Stop worrying," Melanie insisted. "I'm not _dead_."

"Yet," Michael said. This made Melanie's heart race a million miles an hour.

" _WHAT?!_ " she exclaimed.

"Resurgence," he said. "You possess that. Your mother and I both have it. It is her defining ability, like lectio animo and divination are yours."

"Uh… so _why_ do I have to die?"

"Not just yet. We will work toward that," Michael assured her. "I want you to learn how to bring yourself back in the event you die."

"Aren't there guards to protect me? Plus, my _other_ powers?" Melanie challenged.

"She ain't ready, Michael," Misty challenged him. "Please, don't kill her just for that."

"The strongest people are made from the toughest of circumstances," Michael said, giving his daughter a boost of confidence. "Come, to the agricultural center. Let's see their fresh kills of the day."

Unlike in the old world, the slaughterhouse division of the agricultural center was not composed of diseased animals cramped in cages and force-fed, nor pumped with hormones and antibiotics unsafe for human consumption. These animals were genetically engineered specifically for their consumption and were freer range. They were kept in wide pens, where they were free to run around and go about their little lives. The few workers bowed before their King and Princess upon their arrival, and they traveled to the butchering facility to see freshly-killed chickens with their throats cut laying on their sides on a conveyor belt. Melanie walked up to it, and the worker did not object to her taking one.

"Go ahead, Your Infernal Highness," he said. "Are you getting dinner from the source, Your Majesty?"

"Not quite," the King said to his subject. "Princess Melanie is having a lesson." He looked to his daughter and nodded with approval. "Bring that chicken back to life."

She had to remember how she did it for a full-grown woman like she did for Coco; she put her hand over the wound on its throat and held it as if it were alive, closing her eyes and breathing out her life force in the form of white energy. It was akin to exhaling in freezing winter weather, but after a few breaths, the chicken clucked and flapped its wings so violently Melanie lost her grip on it. She looked closer and saw that the wound on his throat healed fully, as if it were never slaughtered. The worker present clapped his hands with praise at his Princess.

"Ave Satanas," he said, "Your Infernal Highness."

"Don't kill that one," she said with intention, "you are to allow that chicken to live its full, natural life." Michael noticed her use of concilium on the man, who froze like a deer in the headlights.

"Y-Yes, Your Infernal Highness," he said, obedient like a dog to its master.

Michael left with his daughter, the chicken still clucking in the facility, and praised her by giving her a reward of grape hard image candy: " _very_ well done."

Developing new powers was also on the agenda – Michael had practiced telekinesis with Melanie, who still had a little trouble with it but was still able to do simple tasks with the power. She had finally disclosed to her father about her finding of the _Lexicon_ , which she had taken from the outpost and now considered it a prized possession, as well as the night she was scared of his satanic blood ritual and ran into Venable, making her cane fall from under her by accident.

"That book was pretty heavy, dad," she described. "Almost broke my nose. I was looking at it, couldn't reach it, and when I was barely trying to get it off the shelf, it fell down and hit my foot."

"If you can do telekinesis," Michael said, "why not try _pyro_ kinesis?" He paused and looked at the fireplace from the sofa, "like _this_."

Melanie gasped, remembering that he used that power to light up the entire suite they shared during their time in the outpost. In the fireplace roared a flame that outstretched nearly toward them. She clutched her chest, taking a deep breath and looking at her father. They were both sitting on the couch when he gave her a plain white candle to light. Misty had been watching them from behind the sofa on which they sat. Melanie tried to fix her attention on the virgin wick of the candle, holding it and closing her eyes to ease concentration. After three minutes, she decided to try again.

"Concentrate," Michael said. "Feel the flame begin to grow. Imagine it, it is _real_."

She tried to do as he was coaching her to do, but no flame came to the candle: "I can't do it, dad."

"I don't have that power," Misty said, looking at her daughter. "Maybe she don't, neither."

"She's my daughter, half-demon. It's one of our defining powers," Michael said with disbelief. "Try again."

Melanie concentrated a little harder to make a flame appear on the tip of the candle. After two minutes, she gave up and tossed the candle into the fireplace, not missing the hearth as she growled in frustration.

" _NO!_ I CAN'T DO IT, DAD!"

"Calm yourself down now before _I_ do!" Michael spoke in a demonic voice, reprimanding her as his eyes turning black as night.

"Dad, I'm not like you! I can't do this thing with the fire!" Melanie whined. "The night I killed the guy who killed Coco, I took a candle off the wall sconce and burned him with it. I didn't do it with my mind. I _can't do it_!"

"You are doubting yourself," he said with disappointment. "Also, you are concentrating way too hard. These powers come to you without any effort."

"Not _this_ one," Melanie said like a smart-Alec.

* * *

Over the course of Michael's first year of being King of Regnum Infernale, Melanie was dealing with her own developmental issues. As she approached her third birthday, she found herself to be more volatile aside from the fact that she grew to be four-foot-seven and had slightly more defined facial and bodily features. Even when her father was crowned King in November, it donned on her she looked to be a year older; to her, these were minor changes. She hated the rapid aging part of being half-demon; it meant that if she were to be acquainted with other children her age, then it would be awkward if she was the "oldest" of the bunch. On her third birthday in 2022, she woke up much taller than she had been previously, and her face had a more "mature" look to it – now, she was physically a nine-year-old. _Time to get new clothes that fit me,_ she thought, _I wonder if the Cooperative has any anti-aging serums or pills for me to take to slow it all down. I feel like a damn monster. I want to be a normal kid_.

* * *

One evening during June, after only two babies were on the way in this particular sanctuary, Michael had come up with a strange, but crazily good idea to help bring the population up. He would need to clear it with Misty first, even though he was King and whatever he said, went. He was laying in bed with his wife, who noticed something off about him; he wasn't talkative, nor was he caressing her like he always had.

"Michael, what is it?" she asked. "Did I do somethin' to upset you?"

"No," he said.

"You're actin' strange," she told him.

"I need to bring something up to you," he said to her. "I have an idea to bring the population up."

"Oh," Misty said. "What is it?"

"I was considering the prospect of getting any women who haven't gotten pregnant already, _pregnant_ ," he stated.

Misty's eyes widened, looking down with a few side glances at her husband. He was the King, he could do as he wished, but did his feelings change for her at all? Was it because she didn't want to go through the agony and potential death in childbirth of having another one of their own?

"Michael…" He could sense apprehension.

"I love you, Misty. I _do_ ," he affirmed sincerely, putting his hands on her shoulders. "I just had this idea, for our people. The stakes are way too high to just let the chance go like this."

"I…I don't think you should," she rejected. "It's… not okay."

"The other methods of collecting genetic material are for when we hit astronomical proportions as humanity. I did not want to just _do_ this without your approval," Michael explained. "I can ensure they get pregnant. Perhaps multiple births, even."

"I can't believe what I'm hearin'," she thought. "Melanie won't be Queen one day if you-"

"I'll stop you right there," he said. " _No baby_ born from these unions will _ever_ qualify for the throne. It is Melanie's to have when we go or cannot rule anymore."

"Is this 'cause I don't want any more babies?" Misty asked with shock still in her voice.

"No," he said. "I am personally fine just having Melanie."

"Then why are you goin' off with these other women?" Misty asked incredulously. "You're havin' babies with _them_."

"Because I will not be in contact with them. As far as they're concern, they are our _subjects_ ," he insisted. "Nothing more." He paused. "As for those women, they are our _subjects_. I will never grow feelings for any woman other than you."

"Yet…"

"Sex and love are not the same, Misty," he said; he felt like he was telling a young, naïve teenager this fact, not a grown woman. "This is simply to _procreate_. We have only had two confirmed pregnancies this year alone. With that rate, we cannot survive as a species."

Misty laid on her side, facing away from him and sighing. He cuddled up behind her, spooning as he held her, waiting for her answer. She finally said: "I ain't gonna like it."

"I know," he said.

"But… you _can_ ," she said with calm reluctance.

* * *

After Michael told Miriam of his plan, he spoke with her about which women in the sanctuary were of fertile, childbearing age. She in fact was proud of him, as he would get some kind of pleasure and fun out of it as well. Also, it was a good opportunity for the women of his kingdom to show their loyalty to him and his sovereignty. They were sitting in the main Cooperative offices in the sanctuary to look at the list of all the female inhabitants present.

"Dinah Stevens?" Miriam asked. "She is 47 years old."

"Too old. I know she is _very_ devoted, anyhow. Next?"

Miriam tapped the right arrow button on the computer, and up popped a familiar face; blonde hair, hazel-brown eyes, her hair styled to perfection.

"Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, aged 41," she said.

Michael was hesitant because of her age, but realized, she may still have been able to reproduce even if this were to be her only child: "add her to the list. We could try." He gave her time to add Coco to the list of participants in his campaign. "Next?"

She pressed the button again, a very good candidate popping up. "Mallory, aged 24."

"There's something odd about that girl," he said aloud.

"Why?"

"When I interviewed her, she made flames come out of the fire, and tossed me across the room," Michael confessed. "I don't know _what_ she is, but…"

"If all that's true, let's add her. The stakes are too high, you said. She is _valuable_ ," Miriam said. He agreed, and she was added to the list. Next popped up the portrait of a rather lovely young woman with wavy chestnut hair and dark gray eyes with cheekbones that could cut glass.

"Alena Baxter, aged 24," Miriam said, looking back at her adopted son. "She's actually really pretty. A former Gray at Outpost 3."

"Yes, add her."

The next one that popped up was already pregnant, but the next to pop up was another familiar face from Outpost 3. She had a dark complexion, big black eyes, and black hair in tight, coarse curls: "Emily, aged 22. She was a Purple in Outpost 3."

"Yes, add her, too. Next?"

"What is this? Some, big orgy?" Miriam chuckled.

"To put it lightly, yes," he said. "This world was made in my father's image. I promised to upkeep it as such."

The next woman to show up was the most beautiful of all so far; she had dark beauty, black hair and hazel eyes with pale skin. Her eyes were cat-like in shape, and her lips were full and pink. "Sarah Fitzgerald, aged 31. She is a Cooperative agent operating here in this sanctuary."

"Oh, _please_ ," he begged, "add her. Who else? We have five so far. Let's pick one more."

"Alright," Miriam said, looking on the computer and scrolling through some women, both members of the kingdom and Cooperative personnel; a lot were too old, but one of them was the other pregnant woman from that year. The last one that really appealed to Michael was a young woman also as beautiful as the previously-mentioned Sarah Fitzgerald. She had a fresh face, long brown hair, and sparkling blue eyes along with full lips.

"Last one, I would pick her if I were you. She's Kate Blackwell, just turned 18," she said.

"She will do," he said. "So… six in total. How do we get the word out to them?"

"Oh, we will get it out to them. Snail mail is the new way of the future," the android joked. "Well, we have regressed because of resources. They will get a letter."

"Let's make it for the night of June 21," he suggested. "Whereabouts…" He thought for a moment. "Not the Grand Hall. Not my private suite, I don't want my wife or Melanie seeing this."

"Why? They don't know?" Miriam asked.

"Well, Melanie doesn't. She's still a bit young. Misty knows, and doesn't like it, but she gave me permission because I told her how beneficial it would be for our people," he explained.

"How about this. You hold it in the Lodge," Miriam suggested. "Remember you did one of your rituals in it?"

"Yes. Perfect place," he said. "Make sure a king-sized mattress is put in there, with red satin sheets, and candles."

"Yes, Your Infernal Majesty," she smiled, willing to oblige.

* * *

On the night of June 21, which also happened to be the Summer Solstice, the women summoned by the Cooperative on Michael's behalf came to the Lodge, which looked like a Church of Satan from the old world. The walls had dark cherry wood paneling and there was a stained-glass window depicting an inverse pentagram on the red, rippled surface. It seemed to let a bizarre crimson light into the room, but the candles added luminosity; they were not lit quite yet. Michael was sitting on the supersized mattress laid out on the floor with satin sheets on top of it. He got changed out of his usual clothing and put on the velvet bathrobe he brought with him just for this event. When the women finally came, they were dressed in their usual clothing; everyone who was not part of the royal family dressed relatively plainly in comparison, and they were easy to spot by the sovereign in the dim room.

"Your Infernal Majesty?" one of the women called out. "W-We've arrived."

They all gasped at the sight of the candles lighting without anyone near them with a match or lighter. All of the candles surrounding the bed illuminated Michael's ironically angelic masculine beauty as he looked at them. Two of the women selected, Sarah and Kate, were admiring and fawning over their King, especially his smoldering gaze and the golden locks that cascaded down to his shoulders neatly. They all halted: Coco, Mallory, Emily, Sarah, Kate, and Alena were kept in their place as if under a spell.

"Come closer, ladies," he said suavely. "I won't bite." _Hard_ , he thought.

They all walked in a straight line across, going closer to the bed. Michael stood up and walked closer to them, addressing them as though he were a sergeant and they were his soldiers. Of course, he had to be suave and use his hypnotic voice to get them in the appropriate mood for the group liaison.

"Thank you all for coming. Your service and loyalty to your sovereign and kingdom is much appreciated, and will be duly remembered," he announced. "You have all been summoned here for a special task. Not all of the women left in the world are able to have this chance, because they are in other sanctuaries, too old, or pregnant already." He paused. "You are all to bear my children."

Out of all the women, Coco was the most shocked – _I don't know if I can still carry at my age_ , she thought. Mallory and Emily had lumps in their throats, the former of whom was scared; the latter feared that Timothy would leave her for possible infidelity, but was it really infidelity if it were sex with their King? What would the penalty be for rejecting Michael? Sarah, Kate and Alena were the most excited for the task, nearly bowing at his feet in gratitude; however, he did not ask for that to be done, so they didn't.

"Keep in mind while they may be sons or daughters of the King, they are in no shape or form eligible for the throne," Michael said as a condition. "Think of this as a service to not only me, your Lord and Savior, but the world. A favor for humanity, to grow and thrive, for what is done here tonight." They all looked at him before he gave his command. "Take off your clothes."

They all did without question; again, it was as though they were under a spell the moment they walked into the Lodge. Everything went: shoes first, then stockings if they were wearing them, outer layers, and their underwear until they were all naked and vulnerable in front of him. The Antichrist peered at his selection of women in front of him to go first. Of all of them, he was drawn to advance toward Emily first, her great black eyes nervously alternating from his chiseled face to the front of his bathrobe. He could sense her nervousness, taking his hand and lightly tilting her chin up to him. She had tears falling, and he smirked.

"W-What if we don't want to?" Emily asked.

His smirk turned to a sterner expression: "you wouldn't risk your _life_ to go against your Lord and Savior, would you?"

Then, he slowly moved his hand down to her throat and squeezed with gradually increasing pressure, making her gasp for air. The other women gasped at how quickly he needed to make an example of someone there to make sure the rest of the female subjects present complied with the task. Mallory was even more scared, staring in horror at what Michael was doing to her. Emily started to choke, and she nodded, struggling to speak as she was being choked: "y-yes…. I… I _will_ … l-let me go…"

He let go, but took her hand and led her to the big mattress covered in silk: "see? It isn't so hard, is it? This is a privilege, and an honor. This isn't every day you go to bed with a sovereign."

Emily sat down but began to cry softly; she did her best to hold it back, but in her mind, this was not at all consensual. He continued to hold her hand as they sat on the bed, kissing her fingers with the intent to calm her down and get her aroused to ease the process.

"It's alright," he said consoling. "Timothy won't care. He bowed before me, just as _you_ did."

Her heart fluttered as he began to lightly kiss the side of her neck, making her pant as he removed his bathrobe. Alena, Sarah and Kate all sighed, aroused by the sight of Michael getting his other subject comfortable. He laid her down on her back, peppering kisses all over her torso but paying extra special attention to her breasts. He worked his tongue against her nipples and she sighed, looking over at the other women present. Emily felt tears form in her eyes again as she felt her King's hand slide up the inner portion of her thigh, caressing softly before cupping the growing wetness between her legs.

"Oh…" she yelped. He bit his lower lip, looking down at her with his piercing blue-green eyes as his fingers worked her womanhood expertly, leaving no place untouched as she writhed beneath him. He leaned down, breathing against her neck.

"Your body is betraying you," he whispered, gently treading his teeth on her collarbone as she cried out in pleasure, his fingers rubbing her sweet bundle of nerves in rapid circular motions. "It feels like heaven, doesn't it?"

She moaned: "oh yes… oh, I'm sorry… AH!"

He slid a finger inside her, moving it in and out as he worked his mouth on her breasts a little more.

"Hm…" he purred. "You're tight… and ready…"

Without hesitating he slid into her, his girth stretching her out. Her eyes widened at the sensation; she never felt so full, even with Timothy. As he pumped in and out of her, she cried out like she never had with any other man. He even pinned her wrists down to keep her submissive as he pumped faster. Eventually, he finished, making sure to get every ounce of his load into her. Emily rolled over on the unoccupied part of the mattress as he summoned Coco over next.

"You're a woman who knows how to _please_ ," he said, looking down at his member. "Get me back up."

She nodded and leaned forward without question. He was kneeling upright as she began to stroke his wet member, putting her mouth around the tip to start doing a blowjob. The feeling of her warm tongue and lips surrounding him almost made him want to bust in her mouth, but he knew that wasn't quite the task at hand. While she sucked him off, he reached over and smacked her ass so hard it left a red handprint. She moaned, taking him deeper despite her sensitive gag reflex, and released him. Michael patted her head to signal that what she did was enough and had her in the same position but pivoted her rear end over to face him. He reached down with his fingers to feel how wet she was, and even though she was almost there, he still thrust into her anyways.

"Ah!" she gasped. "Your Infernal Highness… can I carry? At my age?"

"You've been summoned to try," he smirked, making a few more powerful thrusts into her from behind.

Coco was overwhelmed with the pleasure that Michael provided for her turn on the bed. Brock never did her _this_ well, and she was relatively open to try new things in the bedroom. Secretly, an orgy like this was on her bucket list. Michael gripped some of her blonde hair and pulled her head back, making her scream as his member hit all of the best spots inside her to make her climax. It gave Michael satisfaction to see his subject enjoying herself, so he rewarded it by lasting just long enough to give her a second orgasm before he bust his second load into her, making sure no drop was wasted. He looked over at Sarah and Alena, beckoning them both over to join them on the bed. They both scurried over and bowed before him, who was still kneeling from doing Coco.

"It's an _honor_ , Your Infernal Majesty," Alena said excitedly. "I'm so wet, I can't _stand_ it!"

He reached toward his subject, moving her brown hair away from her chest to gaze at her frame. He gently caressed from the side of her face, down the side of her neck, cupping one of her breasts on the way down her abdomen, finally to where she claimed to be wet. He felt her moisture through the thin clump of hair on her pubic mound and lifted his fingers to his lips, tasting her.

"Hm…" he moaned with satisfaction. "That you are." He leaned in to kiss her neck and whispered seductively: "I want you to sit on my face, while…" He turned to Sarah, " _you_ ride me…how wet are you?"

"Oh, very," Sarah replied. "I'm about to explode."

He laid back on the bed and looked at them both, signaling them both to do as they were told: "then _explode_."

While Coco and Emily were still in the throes of demonic ecstasy from Michael ravaging their bodies, Alena straddled his face and lowered herself just enough, so he wouldn't suffocate. Sarah didn't hesitate to get on top of him and take him up into her, moaning at how thick he was. She bounced up and down slowly, crying out to the heavens. Alena did the same, as she felt her King's tongue expertly moving along her folds and dipping into her molten core. With his free hands, he reached up and massaged her breasts, lips sucking at her clit and making her moan like crazy. When she was on the verge of climax, he just kept going relentlessly, even lifting her just a little, so he could put two fingers into her. She couldn't help it, so she came. Michael moaned into her muff loudly to express his satisfaction, and by this point, Sarah, who was riding his member, made him burst his seeds inside her. She got off immediately, trying to not let a drop go to waste as she laid on her side beside the King, caressing him adoringly. Then, he got up from laying on the bed and bent Alena over with force and shoved himself into her without a second thought. She screamed out, feeling her g-spot being hit repeatedly. In no time, she had another orgasm, followed by another, and between hair pulling and dominant spanks from her Lord and Savior, he released another load of cum into this woman, groaning under his breath and sighing.

By this point, all four women he had done were moaning from the waves of powerful pleasure flowing through their bodies. Kate, who looked on at the scene, felt extremely aroused yet also nervous. When he summoned her over, he could sense this, looking at her petite, young body.

"How old are you?" He knew full well what her age was, but she wanted her to tell him.

"E-Eighteen," she said shyly.

"You're nervous," he said.

"I am," said Kate. "There's something you need to know before I…"

"And that is…?" Michael asked, looking at her lasciviously.

"It's a little embarrassing but," she trailed off, "I'm a virgin."

He gently held her hand and brought her to sit on the bed, caressing her bare skin softly. "There's a first for everything. I'll go gentle."

He did the same type of foreplay for Kate as he did with the other women he just did in front of her and Mallory, who remained to watch the revelries. Except he took extra care so that she felt more pleasure than she did pain. He ravaged her body with light, smooth caresses, passionate kisses, and even went down on her like he did for Alena. To get her used to having something inside her, he fingered her, pressing down and to the sides to stretch her out. Alena and Sarah both tried to enhance the experience for the girl, kissing her and caressing her skin as Michael was between her legs. He made her cum in less than three minutes because he was good with his mouth and hands. When he was done down there, he knelt up and gestured to Kate, guiding her hand to his warm, throbbing girth.

"Ever touch one before?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No… until now," she replied.

He moaned softly as she stroked him up and down shyly, looking up at him to try and gauge a reaction. He sexily bit his lower lip and sighed. Looking down at her, she asked him for reassurance of how well she was doing.

"Am I pleasing you, Your Infernal Majesty?" she asked.

"Oh yes…" he purred. "But you know what would feel so much better?"

"What? Anything," Kate said.

"Stick out your tongue, open your mouth, and let me show you," he commanded.

As if under a spell, she did so, and he slid his rock-hard member into her mouth, soaked with the juices of the other women present at the liaison. Kate moaned softly as she let her King use her mouth for his pleasure. She felt herself getting even wetter from the new experience, moaning to produce vibration. Even though he was tempted to finish in her mouth, he pulled out of it and made her lay on her back. He got on top and opened her tense legs even more than they were.

"Be receptive to me," he said suavely in a whisper that shook her soul's very sore. "Let your legs _fall_ open… relax…" He positioned himself at her entrance, teasing her clit and wet, tight entrance. "Are you ready?"

With her nod, she yelped in a mixture of pain and pleasure as she lost her virginity to her King. She was whining and whimpering beneath him, but he consoled her with gentle kisses to the outer corner of her eyes. He made a few more thrusts to break her in, but she still was extremely tight.

"Oh… i-it hurts!" she exclaimed. "You're too big, Your Infernal Majesty."

He thrust slowly a few more times and whispered: "you'll get used to it. It'll feel good in a minute."

Kate braced herself, her heart racing as she moaned. He was right; once her hymen was truly broken, she felt a strange tingling down below where their bodies conjoined. Michael massaged her breasts softly to make her feel more at ease, and her cries of pain turned to cries of pleasure, feeling sensitive spots she never even knew existed on or in her body.

"Oh my God, oh my God…" she moaned. "AH!"

"See? Isn't it nice?" he moaned. "You feel amazing on me. I may just release right _now_."

He held her hips and began to hump her roughly, his member going in and out of her much faster than he started out with. Kate began to scream and moan in pleasure, and Michael could detect her heart pounding rapidly under her sternum. Her chest rose and fell at an alarming pace along with her pleasure, and he wanted nothing more than to reach in and rip it out to consume it. However, he needed her to carry his child for the sake of humanity. Within five minutes she had climaxed twice, her virgin body engulfed in the ecstasy before Michael spilled a load into her as well. Before getting off her, he kissed her cheek and put his hand over her chest.

"You are free from such a miserable, restrictive social construct," he said, referring to her virginity. She blushed and smiled, nearly tearing up as she felt her King kissing her cheek. "Thank you for your sacrifice for this kingdom."

"It is an honor," she whimpered happily.

Lastly, it was Mallory's turn. He summoned her forth with a "come here" gesture, but she didn't budge more than a few steps forward. She took a deep breath – _I don't want to do this_ , she thought, _I only bowed to him so that I could survive. I don't know why I have to survive, but I have to_.

"Come, Mallory," he said with intention. "Don't be afraid."

"W-What if I don't?" she muttered under her breath.

"What did you say?" he asked sternly, his eyes boring holes into her soul.

"I…I don't know if I can do this, Y-Your Majesty," she said, tears flowing from her face as a cool chill ran over her body.

"Come on, it felt _so good_ ," Sarah purred. "It's like being destroyed for the better from the inside out."

"Have you ever been with a _woman_?" Alena suggested. "I can warm you up."

Michael rose from the bed and approached her confidently, circling her nudity like a hawk scanning its prey. This made her increasingly uncomfortable, but he stopped behind her and sensed all of her fear. He took her in his arms, digging his face into her hair and smelling it – it was flowery, somewhat like Misty except without the earthy undertones. With one of his hands, he fondled her breast, and with the other, he had a hold on over her throat, his voice coercive and alluring as he spoke in her ear.

"Let me go," she begged softly.

" _You_ need to let go…" he sighed with soft persuasion, making the hold on her neck tighter; for some odd reason, she found it arousing how he was so willing to dominate her. "What are you so afraid of? We are alike...what is the point of your fear?"

"D-Don't hurt me," she whined.

"Oh no," he whispered, tilting her chin to face him. "It will be _painless_."

He planted a kiss on the side of her neck, which made her sigh, before he looked at the woman in pure ecstasy on the bed: "ladies, off the bed now."

All of them bolted from their places and went to his feet, kneeling in reverence. He looked down at them and gave one more command: "get dressed. You all may stay to watch, or you may leave and continue with your evening."

Coco and Emily left promptly upon him saying this, whereas Alena, Sarah and Kate all stood by to watch once they got their clothes back on. He led Mallory to the bed and sat down, looking up at her nude body and caressing her legs and pelvis up and down before he started to kiss her knees, moving slightly lower to her shins and then back up to her lower thighs. She began to feel heat pooling between her legs, and he could start to smell the musky, feminine scent as his lips moved up. He knelt, giving her kisses all over her pelvis before taking his fingers and feeling how wet she was. Mallory stifled a moan by biting her lip, shutting her eyes. However, it did feel good; she was not willing to deny that fact. If it didn't cost her life to reject his advances, she would have done that as well.

"Come down here and bend over," he ordered softly.

Mallory complied and got on all fours, and Michael got behind her, stroking his member back to an erect state. While doing so, he moved her hair to the side and kissed the nape of her neck, trailing kisses down her spine. He then started to skillfully finger her intimate area, making her stifle moans throughout. He could feel her getting wetter by the minute, so in one swift movement, he brought her ass up to his face, still on all fours, and worked his tongue against her pussy.

"Please…" she moaned. "Oh…"

He ignored her as his tongue toyed her clit. He moved to dip the tip of his tongue into her entrance, licking around the entrance before trailing up to her other hole. Mallory gasped at the sensation, moaning with a mixture of gratification and disgust. He moved up between her cheeks and probed her other hole with his tongue, making her squirm. This was one sexual act he could never do with his wife, because she was not very open in the bedroom. He noticed her grasping the satin sheets and panting before he went back down and gave her folds one last suck before outright shoving his thick girth inside her.

"Ow!" she yelped.

"It's alright, Mallory," he said, thrusting a few times more, "you're just tight."

Her pelvis began to tense up with nervousness once again, but Michael felt her walls squeezing around him in the process, making him thrust more powerfully into her for added sensation. He couldn't have cared any less if she was crying out in pain or pleasure, but for all he knew, she came twice during his pumping. In the interim, she felt her skin being caressed by Michael's long fingers. After she came one more time, he pumped his load into her. As he did, he felt his eyes turn pitch black, and the candles around the mattress briefly burst into one single flame before they retired back down to smaller, individual flames.

He found himself saying the following as the orgy drew to a close, still inside Mallory from behind: " _Ave Satanas_ ".

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _I won't sugarcoat it, I actually loved writing the orgy scene. It is something I totally picture Michael doing, repopulating the world with some of his demon spunk. Misty hates it, but he's King so... he's the MAN... kinda._

 _Reviews are appreciated, and if you like this story and want to be notified of future updates, please Favorite and Follow! Thanks so much as always!_


	11. Ch 11 - Growth

**Chapter 11 – Growth**

Michael's plans to repopulate the world as he knew it were astonishing successes – between the dates of November 10 and December 24 of that year, a total of seven babies were born in their particular sanctuary. Sarah was the first to give birth, and surprisingly, while it was a very rough labor given that the baby was half-demon, she survived the ordeal. The last to give birth on December 24 was Kate Blackwell; she did not survive the tough ordeal, bearing a daughter for the sanctuary. News of this came to Michael, as did news of the other births, and Misty was encouraged by him to take Melanie to the Clinic to help her hone her resurgence skills.

That afternoon, they made it to her hospital room, where Melanie nearly wretched at the scene – Kate was no longer in a birthing position, but instead laying flat on a gurney, her johnnie covered in rich red blood. A pallor came over her fair face, her full lips in a permanent pucker, and her brown hair lightly fanned out around her head, covered in a film of sweat from her labor. Some blood was freshly dried to the floor, and there was a 'Do Not Walk' sign propped up on the floor. A doctor was standing nearby, filling out a death notice when he heard footsteps coming into the room. He turned and gasped, seeing the Princess and the Queen standing there; they were dressed in black, but not in clothing suitable for a royal family.

"Your Excellencies," he bowed. "I didn't see you there, forgive me."

"It's alright," Misty said, looking over at the fresh corpse of the new mother on the gurney. She peered into the doctor's eyes and asked, "when did she…"

"Three hours ago, just about," the doctor said. "I'm just getting to her death notice now. It's been backed up."

"Hold off on that," Misty said intently, making him put the pen down and leave the form unattended. From here, she took it and tore it into two, putting it in the trash compactor. She looked at Melanie briefly: "bring her back."

The little girl walked over toward the gurney, making sure to not step on any blood. In fact, she was trying to find a spot on the floor where there wasn't any blood at all. She found it on the other side of the gurney and looked down at the young woman. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, putting both of her small hands on her head. She used the same strategy as before, visualizing white energy being exhaled from her lips as she tried to resurrect her. After roughly a minute and a half, Misty stepped in and helped her daughter achieve her goal; Melanie's hands were still on her forehead, while Misty placed hers over her heart and abdomen.

"Keep goin'," she encouraged.

With their joint efforts, Kate sprung back to life of Misty's intervention, jerking up and taking in a deep, wheezing breath as she looked around and started to cry. In an attempt to comfort her, the Queen put her arm over her subject's shoulders, and whispered words of encouragement.

"You've gone through a terrifyin' ordeal, but… you're _safe_ now," she lulled.

"Where am I?" Kate asked.

"In the Clinic. You've been here for a bit now," Melanie explained. "Can I… get you some water?"

Kate looked at the Princess and nodded with gratitude: "yes… _yes_ , please! Thank you, Your Infernal Highness."

She made her way over to the sink and took a sterile plastic cup from the dispenser on the wall, turning on the faucet with telekinesis and filling the cup with cold water. Turning it off with the same mechanism, she walked over to where her mother was comforting the new parent and held the water out to her. Kate took the water down as if her life depended on it.

"What is your name?" Misty asked.

"Kate Blackwell."

"And how old are you?"

"I turned eighteen in June."

"I died this same way," Misty said. "When I had Melanie."

"I was _dead_?" Kate asked incredulously.

"Yeah," Melanie said. "The King himself sent us here to bring you back from the precipice."

 _Ave Satanas, I've done him a great service_ , Kate thought as Melanie read every word.

"What kind of service?" asked the little girl. Kate's heartbeat elevated, and she shook her head.

"I think she should _rest_ ," Misty said. She turned to the doctor and waved her hand, using concilium on him: "you can take her to a better hospital room. Please make sure she gets a bath, a new gown and gets _good_ food, and lots of it."

"Yes, Your Infernal Majesty," the doctor said, walking toward the gurney to roll Kate out of the room.

"Oh, uh… _thank you_! Thank you, Your Excellencies," the patient said with a smile.

When they left the Clinic, they were walking around the routes in the sanctuary, looking around at the genetically-engineered trees and greenery. Melanie still was curious about what Kate meant when she was thinking about "a great service" to her King. Was it the fact she had a baby and contributed to repopulation? She looked up at her mother, who responded with polite nods and smiles at subjects who bowed their heads at she and her daughter's presences, when she finally blurted her question.

"Mom, how do they make babies?"

Misty was taken aback: "I don't think you're old enough to know about that yet, Melanie."

"I can read books at the adolescent level, mom, and I just am starting to surpass that," her daughter challenged. "I think I _am_ old enough to know how it all works."

"I'll need to ask your father," Misty said. "I don't know if he wants you knowin' yet, either."

* * *

"I can explain how it works," Michael said later when he was asked.

"This isn't going to be too awkward, is it, dad?" Melanie inquired with an incredulous face.

"Nowadays there are several ways to produce children. The Cooperative has ways of harvesting genetic material and producing them artificially, but in the old world, it was usually done _one_ way," Michael said. As he explained the anatomy of males and females in a very blunt way, Melanie's eyes widened, and she nearly giggled at the prospect of the act itself.

"Sounds pretty weird, dad," she said.

"When you are old enough to consent to such a thing, you will not find it weird _at all_ ," her father insisted.

"What if I don't _want_ babies?" Melanie asked.

"You don't have that choice," Michael said bluntly. "When you are Queen, you need to keep our bloodline going, so that we rule. In fact, it isn't just you, it is _any_ woman in _any_ of the sanctuaries. They don't have a choice, either. We need to propagate, and part of that, comes a sacrifice of free will."

"Could I do that stuff _before_ I get to be Queen?" Melanie asked. "Do I _have_ to be married or something?"

"Not really," Michael said, "but you can have children before becoming Queen. The first of your children, male or female, is your heir."

She had one more question: "dad, who can I pick to be my King one day?"

"Anyone you desire," he said; he then thought of the possibility of her meeting one of her technical half-siblings in passing, "within reason."

* * *

After her brief meeting with her dad and his explanation on the birds and bees, Melanie went out of the suite and compound and down to her mother's gardens on the route leading to the main foot road of the sanctuary. Misty loved to spend her time tending to the plant life in her kingdom. She was barefoot, dressed in a light red maxi dress and her wild curls peeking out of a messy ponytail. When Melanie came up to her mother, she was getting her tin watering can filled with some of the water from the pond in which the waterfall emptied into. She saw Miriam standing guard over the Queen, and the little girl smiled to see her there.

"Oh, hey Grandma," she said. "Do you like planting things, too?"

"No, I'm just doing my job," she smiled, patting her blonde head.

"I told you, you didn't have to stay 'round here. No one's gonna hurt me," Misty said cordially.

"It's an honor, Your Majesty," the android replied.

"Grandma, you're _family_. Only you are exempt from the formalities," her granddaughter said with a chuckle before going over and kneeling near her mother, who reached to put her hand on the back of her head and giving a kiss on her forehead.

"Comin' to help me plant some berry bushes?" she asked her daughter.

"What kinds of berries?" Melanie asked. "And isn't that the Agricultural Center's job?"

"Am I not Queen?" Misty asked, making the girl laugh.

"Yeah, yeah." She paused. "So, again. What berries?"

Misty pointed at the packets of seeds she had laid out while she had finished filling the tin with water: "wild strawberries, blueberries, black and red currants, and blackberries."

"I haven't actually tried any of those. They're just flavorings in foods," the girl said.

"You're in for a treat," Misty smiled. "Let go over there, I have a plot planned."

That whole afternoon into early evening was spent toiling in the realistic soil in the front of the sanctuary. Misty enjoyed this bonding time with her daughter, teaching her one of her passions from before the nuclear holocaust. Though the nature and greenery in this city inside a bubble was merely a cheap imitation, she was determined to bring the life back into a world with none left. From the Queen and Princess' labors, the sanctuary was in the horn of plenty, despite the Cooperative claiming to have provisions to last another ten years. These quick food sources seemed to prolong how those provisions lasted. Eventually, Misty moved on to start planting trees that bore fruit, like apples, peaches, pears and oranges. Most of these took five years at least to grow and start bearing fruit – the Princess was able to see their first harvest on the eve of her eighth birthday.

For those who were not familiar with demon child growth and development, some looked at the Princess as though she were some monster during those years. At age five, she was physically at the peak of her teenaged years. Now, at age eight, she was physically twenty-four years old. She was shorter than both of her parents at five-foot-six; Misty was taller than the average woman, and Michael was a typical height for a human man. However, her beauty was a sight to behold; like her mother, she had golden curls that ran wild when she didn't brush them, as well as her diamond-shaped face. Yet her face had a chiseled quality to it like her father's own face had, and she shared his penetrating gaze. She had been influenced by her mother's own habits, going barefoot when she could, eating more than her share, and making sure the gardens were well-kept and always producing fruit for their people.

Michael considered his daughter to be the apple of his eye – he was especially proud of his wife for her efforts in keeping humanity afloat, and even sending some of the harvested fruit to other sanctuaries. It was risky business to do so because even though it had been quite a few years since the bombs dropped, radiation contamination risks were still quite high. They were recognized by the King himself for their sacrifice to the risks outside of their little world. Misty, as Queen, was truly the opposite of he, the Lord of Death and Destruction, as she was like the Earth Mother providing more food than the Cooperative could provide in their supply and bringing life back into a world that needed more of it.

* * *

 _May 2, 2027_

Melanie was struggling to pick out what to wear for her birthday celebrations that night. She was torn between a black evening gown with straps and a mesh insert behind a plunging V-neck along with diagonal frill accents on the skirt with a red sash on the waist. The other evening gown was more ornate, burgundy velvet and off the shoulder with long sleeves and ornate appliques and embroidery on the front. They were hung carefully in her closet, and the burgundy dress had a detachable lace train with the same sorts of embellishments on the hem. She held each up to her in front of her long, floor-to-ceiling mirror against the wall.

Knock-knock!

"Melanie?"

 _Dad_ , she thought. She placed the dresses over a chair in her room neatly before sitting down on the foot of her bed. "Come in."

Michael opened the door and smiled down at his daughter, who noticed a small blue box in his hand. He was clad in an outfit similar to what he wore during his coronation as King, but the outside cape was red, and the lining was black. By this point in time, he was physically in his early-forties, but still had that ironic angelic masculine beauty. His golden, silky locks were tied back in a ponytail away from his face, and she smiled at him back.

"Hello, dad," she said.

"I know it's a little early, but… it is your birthday. I wanted to give this gift to you _early_ ," he said.

"Early? Well, the festivities are tonight, after all," Melanie said back, her back proper and erect.

He extended the blue box to her, and she looked at him with a smirk before opening it. She saw a pair of gorgeous drop ruby earrings set in gold. She took a closer look at the intricate details between the carefully placed gems.

"These have a story behind them, do they not?" she asked.

"Indeed, they do," Michael said. "They were Venable's, but I stole them. I was originally going to give them to your mother, but after learning their history, I knew she wouldn't appreciate them as much."

"Why is that?"

"They belonged to a Jewish woman from the old world, during a time in history where there were camps to exterminate them," Michael explained. "The ruler in power did not want them existing. She always reminded people that she was of considerable means, as her husband was an influential and wealthy doctor in Berlin. She always complained to the camp physician that her stomach was in pain, and one day, he decided to follow her to the latrines with the hopes of getting a stool sample." He paused. "The doctor allegedly saw this woman picking through her own shit to get the earrings. She confessed that she swallowed them every day, carrying them inside her as if she were going to be released the next day, back to her life of grandeur."

"Ew," Melanie groaned.

"She died of internal bleeding. Her intestines were destroyed by the earrings," Michael smirked, on the verge of a snicker. "The doctor investigating her pain kept them and gave them to a nun supervising an asylum back in 1964. My father possessed and killed that same nun."

"How did Venable get them?" his daughter asked with confusion.

"She didn't tell me. She was wearing them one day when we were in Outpost 3, and she told me their story. When Miriam killed her for what she did to you, I snuck into her quarters and tried to find them. I snatched them up. Now, they are _yours_."

Melanie went over to her mirror to help in putting on the earrings to see how they looked, smiling sinisterly at her reflection. The earrings looked magnificent on her, and as she smiled, she saw something that didn't quite look like her reflection. It was as though it morphed into a beautiful yet frightening creature; it looked to be a woman in an all-white lace gown that seemed indistinguishable from her pallid skin. From her feet to her head, it only got to more shades of black and gray from white. The eyes, a knife-piercing gray, were covered in black sooty makeup, the same kind that rested sparsely on her lips. On her head was a strange, ornate headdress with a spikey crown, Swarovski crystals, and a piece of lace covering her forehead. On closer inspection, her hair was half black, and half platinum white; the colors were divided by a middle part. This is the first time seeing herself like this, but she was far from afraid. This was her true form – her father also had a true form, a gray, emaciated man with black eyes.

"I recommend the red dress," Michael suggested, distracting her from peering in at her reflection.

"You do?" she asked. "I was a bit indecisive, but these earrings would go beautifully with that one."

"Well, I will leave you to get dressed for the revelries," he said, walking out of the room.

"Thank you, dad. I love the earrings," she said with gratitude.

* * *

Like almost all royal processions and celebrations, everyone from the other sanctuaries were invited to participate, and attendance was mandatory. For formalities in front of their people, Melanie was obliged to wear the circlet she was coronated with, and her parents wore their crowns. Miriam was obliged to wear an evening gown and finery, and she led the procession with Michael behind her, then Misty, and Melanie. Everyone gasped in awe of the Princess as she smiled grandly at her people, passing by them through the middle row in the Grand Hall. When they got up to the stage where their thrones were placed, they all sat down, except Melanie's throne was in the front of her parents. Even members of the Cooperative were given the day off to attend the festivities. She sat there like an idol being worshiped by devotees, being given gifts at her feet as she sat. Since most of the people in Regnum Infernale were of simple means, the gifts were not that extravagant, but Melanie graciously accepted each and every one.

One of her subjects in particular was memorable – he presented to her a small bouquet of blue roses tied with a thick black ribbon at the stems. She was captivated, even more by the young man who laid them at her feet along with her other offerings: he was extremely handsome, with a chiseled face, brown hair, fair skin, and familiar light blue eyes that she could not quite place. Due to the population of the sanctuary being relatively small, she was able to place who was who and what changed about the people. It donned on her at that moment that during those past five years, she had seen children running about here and there; they seemed to age at the same irregular rate as she did. This young man seemed to have that same air around him. His voice even had a familiar sound to it, as he spoke reverently to his Princess.

"Your Infernal Highness, it is an honor. Happy birthday," he said, reaching to kiss her hand. She smiled and nodded.

"Thank you." _He's so familiar,_ she thought, _it's bothering me_.

The blue roses bound with a black ribbon was the most memorable gift aside from food and handcrafted art and goods. Yes, she had planted a few rose bushes with her mother, but she had never seen blue ones. They were almost otherworldly. After she received her presents, she decided to wear the small bouquet around her waist. She had her mother help her my procuring a ribbon, which was actually a bracelet she was wearing for the event and tying it to her waist. The blue petals contrasted the red velvet of her gown in an unusual way, but it gave people something else to look at when facing their Princess.

The night went on; by 7PM, everyone was served dinner, and the seven-course meal lasted the next two hours. It was sumptuous, reflecting the overall prosperity of the kingdom from Misty and Melanie's leisurely labors in growing fruit-bearing plants and trees. There was enough wine to go around four times over, and Melanie could not stop dining no matter how full she got. The first course, appetizers, included kebabs with freshly-harvested fruit, and next came the soup, which was quite unusual, but the guests relished it; strawberry soup with raspberry leaves for a garnish. Next came a palate cleanser, which was not necessary because of the lack of strong flavors at the dinner, but it was also unique; apple sorbet. The main course was rare beef, nice and bloody; however, for the King and Princess' unique appetites and needs, they were served raw beef heart halves with a relish of tomatoes and snapped peas. Washing all of that down with wine, dessert and fruits came last in the elaborate meal.

Oddly enough, Michael and Melanie were not drunk, having had at least eleven full glasses of wine between them – he had six, she had five. Once everyone was finished, the tables were all moved to make room for dancing and the usual revelries involved in a grand celebration in Regnum Infernale which included drinking and even intimate group liaisons in private. For the beginning of this part of the night, however, most people were dancing to loud music of all genres, but mostly dance, pop and techno. Many women were dressed in evening gowns, and those in the longer varieties were limited in their movement. Among these were Misty and Melanie.

As she danced, however, the Princess could almost sense a pair of eyes watching her, boring through her soul just like she would to someone else when using lectio animo. She was prompted to look behind her, past the people dancing around her to the fast-paced beats, and saw the same face as earlier, of the one who presented blue roses to her. Her heart shuddered under her sternum, stunned by his striking masculine beauty; brown wavy hair parted to the side, chiseled features, and piercing blue eyes that looked all too familiar. As if under a spell or hypnosis, she stopped all movement and saw the way clear for him to approach her. She got a better look at what he was wearing; a black dress shirt with the sleeves folded up to be only ¾, and black slacks. She could sense the shyness off him, yet how could he be so confident as approach Her Infernal Highness, the Princess of Regnum Infernale so suavely like she watched him do? When she took her eyes off him, she looked over at the source of the music, and it turned to a slow song, but when she turned to look at him again, she saw he was right in front of her. His eyes were like arrows looking down at her, paired with a jovial smile.

She gasped, putting her hand to her chest, speaking sternly to her mysterious subject: "you startled me."

"Oh, I apologize," he said nervously. "I didn't mean to, Your Infernal Highness."

She felt the hesitation in his voice, and she could sense his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Her eyes peered up at his fearlessly; "who _are_ you? What sanctuary are you from that you are attending my party?"

He gave a deep bow that lasted three whole seconds before he responded: "my name is Elijah Cross. I was raised in this sanctuary."

"By whom?"

"My mother."

"And what of your father?" Melanie inquired.

He shook his head: "I don't know who he is."

She looked at him suspiciously and nodded: "hm. You look very familiar. I cannot seem to place your face, Mr. Cross."

 _She's talking to me like I'm a gentleman_ , he thought as she read every word, _what an honor_.

"What would be even grander of you, is to tell me how you procured such a fine floral arrangement," she suggested, looking down at the blue roses she had tied around her waist with her mother's string-style bracelet.

"I…I picked a few of them from the bushes you and Her Infernal Majesty, your mother, planted," he confessed shyly. "I brought them home. We did not have very much to give you for your birthday, but… my mother did this… _thing_ with them, to make them blue." He paused, raising his palms up slightly; Melanie noticed that in the crevasses of his palm lines were semi-fresh wounds from the thorns on the roses. "Those damn thorns, though."

"It was… _very_ thoughtful of you. They are exquisite," the Princess told Elijah.

He looked at her; _she is so graceful_ , he thought as he analyzed every inch of her regal presence. Her golden curls were in a neat side braid and resting on her crown was the silver circlet. Her burgundy gown rested off her shoulders, the applique and sequins shining in the light that shone on the celebrants present for the festivities. Hanging from her earlobes were the ruby dangly earrings gifted to her by her father before the night started. The bottom half of the dress also had embellishments but was plain in comparison to the top half save for the luxurious velvet. _I don't deserve to be in her presence_ , he thought to himself.

"What makes you think that, pray tell?" Melanie asked, reading his thoughts clear as day.

He took a deep breath and shook his head: "w-would you like to dance, Your Infernal Highness?"

Melanie nodded, and he initiated a walk to the center of the dance floor by taking her arm gently in his, and the guests cleared the floor for them instantaneously. The slow song of choice was _Dreaming of You_ by Selena Quintanilla. They got into a dancing position, his hand on her waist and his other holding her hand, with her free arm up at his shoulder, swaying expertly to his rhythm. Melanie paid attention to the lyrics, a difficult task when she had this dream of a man in front of her:

" _Cause I'm dreaming of you tonight_ _  
_ _'Til tomorrow, I'll be holding you tight_ _  
_ _And there's nowhere in the world I'd rather be_ _  
_ _Than here in my room dreaming about you and me_ …"

Elijah made a bold but subtle move with the Princess dancing in step and time with him. Every third step, it seemed like the hand on his waist was pulling her ever slightly closer to him. This continued on, and while she did not seem to mind, she was alarmed at how comfortable she felt with this stranger. She continued to listen to the lyrics of the song playing:

" _Late at night when all the world is sleeping_ _  
_ _I stay up and think of you_ _  
_ _And I still can't believe_ _  
_ _That you came up to me and said I love you_ _  
_ _I love you too…_ "

As the end of the song played, Elijah twirled the Princess, wherein she halted the dance. He seemed a bit put off by this but did not show it. The Princess curtseyed to her mysterious dancing partner and smiled to keep up appearances, and he did the same with deep reverence, as though he were dancing with a goddess in the flesh.

Meanwhile, as the music played on with the techno and dance genres, Michael was sitting on the throne with his wife, Misty, by his side. She had watched her daughter dance with the handsome young man and was still smiling. However, Michael was extremely wary and overprotective, like any normal father would be with their only daughter. He had witnessed the floor of guests part like the Red Sea when Elijah came up to his daughter and offered to dance. He had seen his extreme formalities toward his Princess, and he had seen her halt the dance, but bow to keep up appearances. Little did he know, in that moment, that this was the start of something new.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _After two very graphic scenes, I have obviously_ changed the rating _of this story to Mature from Teen. Just a quick notice._

 _Also, just so it is clear, Michael and his family as royals in this story are more equal to their people than most people would consider royalty to be. While they do have a level of extravagance to their lifestyles, they live in a suite like everyone else does, NOT a palace. In fact their suite is larger, more spacious and more luxurious, so I am sure that counts, for what it is worth. Their people_ know for a fact _who is royal; after all, it's a whole new spin on the meaning of "small world"._

 _As always, if you like this story and wish to see future updates, Favorite and Follow, and if you'd like to suggest anything or leave comments, Reviews are appreciated. Thanks so much! Stay tuned!_


	12. Ch 12 - The Princess & the Subject

_WARNING: Discretion advised, adult content at the end of the chapter._

* * *

 **Chapter 12 – The Princess and the Subject**

The following day after the night of Melanie's birthday festivities, of which many revelries lasted until the crack of dawn, she slept until one in the afternoon. She had to look at the electric clock on the wall of her bedroom to fully believe it. Once she was up, she took a shower and got dressed into an A-line style black dress with a sweetheart neckline that hung off the shoulders with just straps holding it up. On the ends of the long sleeves were pleated lace inserts over wide slits. She accessorized with a black lace choker with a faceted crystal dangling down, and on her ears, she put simple diamond earrings. Her blonde curls needed to be tamed, so she put a lot of it back while keeping it down.

After she was ready, she took one more glance at herself in the mirror and saw her true form – the frightening but beautiful creature with pallid skin in a white lace dress, her head topped with an ornate black and gray headdress. Her eyes were such a light shade of gray that they were practically white, nothing but a darker corona and the black dots for irises to distinguish them from the sclera. Her hair was divided perfectly in an even part; one half of her hair was black, the other so platinum it looked white. Her eyes were done up in black, sooty makeup, and her lips had blotchy black coloring on them. Again, Melanie was not too spooked, but when the phantom in the mirror smiled, it was menacing enough to shock her, as she had perfectly filed points for teeth on the bottom row as well as the top.

"AH!" she shrieked, moving back on her bed, creating a thud loud enough to attract attention.

 _Knock-knock_!

"What?"

"It's your father."

"Shit."

"I heard that," he sneered. "I need to speak with you."

"J-Just a second."

Melanie got up from the bed and looked in the mirror one more time, only to notice the ghastly phantom that was her true form had vanished from sight. She sighed in relief and looked at the door, telekinetically opening it with a simple hand gesture to let her father in. When he walked in, he noticed her placed in front of the mirror in such a way, it made him curious. He paused and took a deep breath in through his nostrils.

"It's about last night," he introduced. "However, you look like you'd seen a ghost."

"Maybe I did, dad. I know you have a true form, and I do as well," Melanie explained. "She came into my reflection again and scared me with her razor-sharp teeth. It's frightening."

"Your true form is supposed to be frightening," her father said, sitting down on the bed and patting the area next to him, prompting Melanie to join him. She said and evened out her skirt, looking up at him.

"You came in here to talk to me, so… _talk_ ," she commanded.

"What was that boy's name last night?" he asked. "You were dancing with."

"Elijah," she said without hesitation. "Elijah Cross."

"How old is he?"

At that moment, she realized he did not disclose his age, nor did she ask: "I'm uncertain. I…did not ask. I would assume he's about eighteen, or up to my age. Give or take."

"Physical or actual age?" he inquired.

"I don't know," she said with a furrowed brow. "Why does it matter so much?"

"He can't be _too_ young for you, that's why," he clarified.

"I wouldn't deliberately go chasing after someone younger than me. It'd be too much of a struggle in which frankly, I have no interest," Melanie stated. "However, I did feel this pull to him, a familiarity."

Michael had to actively block out his thoughts so that his daughter could not pick up on them: _that boy seemed a bit strange, if I do say so myself. I'd need to meet him to determine if he is one of my own, from one of our female subjects. I wonder if she will put two and two together and figure it out on her own_.

"Really?"

"Yes. His eyes," she looked into her father's eyes, "it was as though I had met him before. He was _very_ respectful. He was excessive with the formalities. Called me My Infernal Highness every other sentence."

"As he should. Tell me, why did you _stop_ dancing with him?" he asked. "I witnessed the whole thing."

"Something told me to stop," she said. "I don't know. I can't quite put my finger on it."

She stood up and looked down at her father before putting on her black stockings before her two-inch heeled black Mary Jane shoes. He looked at her and then looked over on her desk, where the blue roses were put in a cup of water.

"I'm going to the library. I'll be back in a while," she said.

"Alright, Melanie. We will be here."

As soon as she was gone from the room, he walked over to where she placed the blue roses in the cup. He sat down on the chair that came with the surface, and he gently pulled the cup of flowers over to him for closer examination, both physically and with the energy of them. He knew for a fact that blue roses were practically nonexistent since the bombs dropped, so how did he procure them? Even he, the all-powerful Antichrist, could not fully grasp where these flowers came from.

* * *

While in the seemingly-vacant library, she grabbed a few random books off the shelves, the titles ranging from _Le Dragon Rouge_ and _Clavicula Salomonis Regis_ , and sat against one of the shelves in an aisle to delve into the content. She seemed to zip through the books within twenty minutes apiece, but the third one she had selected caught her interest. She had never seen this one before, and frankly, it was foreign to what she was taught by her father about her powers, at least at first glance. It appeared to be a spell book, perhaps a few centuries old. As she got into it, she noticed a ton of similarities with things she knew, but what interested her most was a page full of women's names, a few accompanied with portraits with the headline: " _Supremes_ ".

 _Prudence Mather_ , _ascended 1662_.

There were a few illegible names below this one, but the next name she was able to read had at least two-hundred years as a discrepancy.

 _Marion Warton, ascended 1868._

 _Mimi DeLongpre, ascended 1899._

 _AnnaLeigh Leighton, ascended 1940._

 _Fiona Goode, ascended 1971._

 _Cordelia Goode, ascended 2013._

The last one, accompanied by a photo of a woman in a black and white dress with sleek blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and a thin frame, sparked her memory. She could vaguely remember a woman with this same description from when she was a baby, but nothing else came up. She safely assumed that she died in the next name was crossed out, but it was very clear to her through the messy job done to etch the name out who it was: _Michael Langdon, first male heir to the Supremacy, 2018_.

Melanie simply shook her head: "No wonder he wiped them off the face of the earth," she whispered to herself, "my father was destined to rule anyways."

However, the next name struck a nerve: _Mallory_. A last name was not given; in fact, the writing looked more recent, as far as fresh ink went. Next to her name and picture, there was the following: _Supreme Elect of the Salem descendants as of 2018_.

"Almost ten years ago," she said pensively. Taking a look at the photo, it was the exact same face of one of the first women to nurture her as a baby, only to encounter her again in service as a Gray in Outpost 3. Like the rest of the photos, it was in black and white, and she could make out the celestial jewelry and gold leaf headband that were her signature accessories. She sighed, wondering what her father would think if he knew that a Witch was living in their sanctuary. _I can't tell him_ , she thought, _he'd kill her. I don't want that_.

The next page basically read the criteria and duties of a Supreme. One section was headlined _The Seven Wonders_ , and there was a list of powers, all of which sounded familiar because her own father had taught her how to use them when he could: telekinesis, concilium, transmutation, divination, pyrokinesis, vitalum vitalis, and descensum. She knew for a fact she possessed four out of the seven, but descensum intrigued her – what was it?

She heard footsteps coming down the hall, and she propped her knees up despite being fully exposed in her skirt from the bottom. The open face of the book was against her abdomen as she telekinetically put the other books she had back on the shelves where they originally were. However, the familiar passerby caught her doing this – it was Elijah. His jaw dropped, and he looked at the seated Princess with shock; he was indeed impressed, she could sense it off him.

"Oh, Your Infernal Majesty," he said, getting on the floor and crawling closer to her and while remaining on his knees, he touched his forehead to the tile floor of the library in reverence. "My apologies. Did I disturb you?"

"N-No," she said. "What are you doing in the library?"

His icy blue eyes stared back at her, paired with a straight smile: "I read here all the time. I love how quiet it is, don't you, Your Infer-"

"Mr. Cross, I appreciate your formalities and politeness, but it is quite excessive," she said, halting his sentence. "You can just call me Princess Melanie."

He listened to her attentively and obediently, his eyes fixed on her beautiful, chiseled visage: "yes… o-of course, Princess Melanie."

"The only thing I ask," she continued, drawing his submissive attention even more, "is that you use the formalities in front of my father, the King. You should be grateful I am even giving you this privilege."

"Of course I am, Princess…" He trailed off, taking a deep breath. "May I ask what you are reading there?"

"Hm… not sure if I should tell you," Melanie said, closing the book partway with her finger as a bookmark as she showed the face of the embossed leather cover to Elijah. His eyes scanned the design, and his eyes squinted.

"It _does_ look familiar," he said, holding his hands out and sitting next to her; "may I please see it?"

Nodding, he took it off her hands and turned the cover open, looking at the pages and nodding. He smiled down at the same page that Melanie was looking at with the Supremes, some of which had photos next to it. Melanie was intrigued, reading his thoughts in the meantime: _that's my mother. I just hope Her Highness doesn't have me and her executed_.

"Why would I do that?" she responded as if he were speaking.

He was stunned, smiling and nodding: "you read my soul like a book, Princess."

"How do you know that is what I am doing, Mr. Cross?" she questioned sternly and with conviction.

"Princess Melanie, if you please, call me Elijah," he suggested cordially. "But…truth be told, I am not really sure. I have always had this inner knowing about people, about things, about places, some of which I have never been."

She broke the question her father asked her about him: "how old are you, Elijah?"

She sensed a little bit of hesitation at his answer. "Seventeen."

" _Really_?" She knew he was not being truthful, and he knew he was missing something, so he disclosed the fact.

"I was born November 15, 2022," he stated, "so I'm not _really_ seventeen. I just _look_ it. I'm actually _five_."

She sighed a huffy breath before responding: "I relate."

"I feel like such a _freak_!" he exclaimed. "I'm going to be my mother's age before she even reaches that point. It's crazy. I don't know why I am like this, but… I guess I take comfort in the fact that I know a few other people in this sanctuary who age the same way as I do."

Melanie looked at her subject, trying to piece together what she learned about him so far. His mother was Mallory, as he smiled down at her picture on the page when she read his mind, making him a warlock or half-one if he didn't know who or what his father was. However, she asked herself if he too was half-demon because of his rapid aging. He knew that she was using lectio animo, or reading his soul. At her birthday celebrations the night before, he had this hypnotic way about grabbing her attention, and she was practically put in place as he approached her to dance. Something was fascinatingly strange about him.

"You are so strange, Mr. Cross," she said frankly.

"I hope you mean 'strange' in a _good_ way, Princess," he smiled.

She looked down at the book, turning the page to the section with the Seven Wonders on criteria about being the Supreme of the Salem descendants. Taking the book and standing up with it open, Elijah followed suit and fixed his plain black crew neck t-shirt before fiddling with his jeans. He looked down at his Princess with anticipation, licking his lips briskly because they had gotten dry. Clearing his throat, she gave her first inquiry.

"Can you move things with your mind, per chance?" she asked.

His answer was simple – he looked at an entire section of books on the library shelf and barely concentrated as the books all fell to the floor, one by one, in a wave motion. Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped, slapping the side of his arm. He didn't feel pain; in fact, he was delighted to have the chance to demonstrate his abilities aside from being in the presence of the Princess.

"You _imbecile_! How careless are you?!" she exclaimed in a harsh whisper, as it was the library. "Some of these books are very rare and the only copies left in existence!"

She didn't sense fear off him; rather, she sensed delight and an overly exaggerated heartbeat. She reversed the action by looking at the books and waving her hand up toward the bookshelf to return them back to their rightful places. Elijah smiled grandly at her and chuckled.

"Can you… move place to place without occupying the space in between?"

 _Swoosh!_

A swift movement from Elijah caused him to vanish in front of her. She had her answer – he not only could do telekinesis, but transmutation as well. She looked around, and then behind her, but saw Elijah with his arms crossed casually, standing tall at the other end of the aisle, approaching her with a suave walk.

"Yes, Princess Melanie. I _can_ move place to place without occupying the space between," he smiled. "I've been able to do this and the other thing since I was two."

She looked down at the book and her eyes went to "divination" next, knowing just what to ask: "tell me what I am currently thinking of, and where it is, next."

"Certainly," he said with a slight bow of his head, closing his eyes. An image formulated in his mind of a pair of earrings, a gold setting with rubies in an arranged pattern. He blurted: "the earrings, those which you wore last night." She didn't say anything, so she could see him effectively demonstrate the ability in question. "Before you, those earrings had three owners. The first, a prisoner of a death camp almost eighty years ago; she kept swallowing them so that when she got released, she would still have her prized possession, but she died. They were taken by the doctor who tried to treat her, and then given to a nun… who _also_ died… and then given to this…" He paused to think for a moment, "woman… very cruel…" He got an image in his mind, and he heard screaming: "she _beat_ you?"

Melanie knew exactly what he was picking up on, though everything else was very accurate. She sighed and stopped him: "Satis. Enough."

"D-Did I do as you asked to your satisfaction?" he questioned shyly.

"Yes, all of that was correct," she confirmed, "but I do _not_ want to relive that moment of my life, thank you very much. My grandma killed her. I _despised_ that woman."

"I am so sorry, Princess Melanie. I didn't mean to-"

"You were doing as I ordered you to do," she said.

He got down on his knees and looked up at the Princess, holding the free hand that was not holding the book open. She was taken aback, and her eyes pierced down at him like daggers. He took a deep enough breath to calm himself down as he spoke with reverence and dignity. She still listened, flattered indeed but a bit creeped out.

"Princess Melanie, Her Infernal Highness of Regnum Infernale," he began, "if _anyone_ EVER tries to harm you, I will be there to take it for you. I wish to make this vow to you, in your service, as your loyal subject."

She took her hand away curtly and rolled her eyes: "thanks, but… I can take care of myself. If there comes a time I cannot, I have my father the King and my grandma, but… thanks anyway."

She sensed the disappointment on him, and even read his mind: _one day, you will need a man by your side to do all of that for you and then some, because you deserve it, my sweet infernal goddess. I know you can read my mind and soul right now, but look in my eyes… can you see what's inside? Would you even care?_

"Why are you so _corny_?" she asked incredulously.

He sighed briefly: "I blame reading Don Juan, Quixote and Casanova, and my taste in music…"

"Do _not_ be influenced by Don Juan or Casanova," she advised. "You'll end up emotionally scarring someone one day."

"But… I'd never do it to _you_ ," he confessed. "Ever. In fact, I've never been this way with any girl, or woman. Not until now."

"Cease and desist," she ordered; she knew he was not lying to her, but this was not in the plan today. "Get to your feet."

He followed her orders submissively, and she quickly changed the subject, wanting to know more about what kinds of abilities he had. She looked at what was next on the list, " _pyrokinesis_ ": "can you spark fires without any mundane medium with which to make one?"

"The last time I did that, I nearly burned the compound down," he joked. "I was two years old going on three."

"So, you never attempted it after?"

"No. My mother screamed at me."

She took his hand, at which he had a positive physiological reaction and nodded, leading him down the aisle with the book under her arm. As she led the way, she left her clean scent behind and Elijah picked up on it – it was flowery and sweet, like honeysuckle and actual honey. He had never seen or experienced either, but it appealed to his inner knowing and his senses greatly. He was too intoxicated with thoughts of his Princess that he did not realize where he was being taken. On the other side of the library, there was a dead fireplace void of a flame in its hearth. She let go of his hand, gave him the book, and got ignitable blocks from the side of it. The ignitable blocks were a substitute for firewood, as the nuclear holocaust wiped out most of the trees naturally in the world outside their sanctuary; it was a nifty Cooperative invention.

"Alright," she said, backing away from the fireplace and taking the book back. "Prove it."

Again, it occurred without even trying; Elijah looked at the fireplace and a fire burst out of nowhere, startling Melanie and making her look back at him. He nodded, looking at his Princess with a satisfied look on his face. Suddenly, they heard a robotic voice – looking back behind them, it was a Cooperative member in all black but masked with a silver visage to hide his identity, as most Cooperative agents and members did.

"Your Infernal Highness, is he bothering you?" the person asked, the voice robotic and monotone.

She looked to Elijah, keeping in mind one of the other Seven Wonders, " _concilium_ ": "Elijah, handle him."

He took a few steps forward and outstretched his palm forward, reciting his will and intention: "Her Royal Highness is not bothered by me. She is my very good friend, and I am hers."

"I was not speaking to you, I was speaking to Her Infernal Highness, Princess Melanie of Regnum Infernale," the robotic voice said. "I will need to see some identification."

 _This is ridiculous_ , she thought, stepping forward and speaking to the Cooperative member; by now, she was very sure it was not a human member, but an android: "he does _not_ need to show identification of _any_ kind. Trouble us no more!"

There was a pause: "my apologies, Your Infernal Highness. I shall trouble you no more. Have a nice day."

Melanie and Elijah looked at each other as the silver-faced person in all black walked back to where it came from. She could sense apprehension off her subject and new friend, who just looked at her shyly.

"What was _that_ , Princess? I have seen them around but…"

"Cooperative members, employees," Melanie said. "They wear that to hide their identity."

"How come, may I ask?"

"It's always been that way, even in the old world," she said. "Sometimes they are human, sometimes not. I think that was an android."

"Android?" he asked, puzzled.

"They are crafted after humans. They act like them, too. There isn't anything to be afraid of," she assured him. "It is hard to tell sometimes, but it really makes no difference. They are there to keep us safe, not just us royals but you subjects as well. They also work for us and perform labor."

"While us subjects participate in reverently hedonistic lifestyles? Just as Satan would want for us," he said.

Melanie nodded slowly: "yeah, something like that."

* * *

For almost every day that week, Melanie and Elijah agreed to meet up and be in each other's company. Elijah very much liked this, and when they were together, they spent hours together, talking or honing their powers together; transmutation through the fruit tree orchards was the most fun. Melanie realized that the incident with the Cooperative android made concilium much more difficult for Elijah, but he confirmed and demonstrated that he indeed had this power. He had made a passerby in the orchard dance around a peach tree in a daze, laughing and smiling as she breathed heavily enough for her lungs to burn. This spectacle quite amused the Princess, who laughed until her sides hurt.

 _Five of seven_ , she thought. All that were left for him to demonstrate were vitalum vitalis and descensum.

Melanie also began to feel a sort of fondness and tenderness toward her subject. Aside from possessing masculine beauty beyond all measure she'd ever seen, he was just like her in almost every way, maybe slightly more powerful than she. He was polite, kind, submissive to her authority, the last of these being a bonus because she could tell he was fiercely loyal to her. He also was a bleeding-heart romantic, inspired by his cover-to-cover readings of Don Juan, Casanova, Don Quixote, and other chivalric, romantic heroes from a bygone era.

One night, she had been with him, they had ventured to the Lodge. Upon arrival, they both could feel heat in the room – they looked at each other and then up at the red inverted pentagram stained glass window that was illuminated from behind, giving an infernal dimness to the Lodge. At the very back of the hall was a small, single-step stage upon which stood an upright piano. He curiously teleported closer to it, and Melanie watched him. He saw the wooden cover and lifted it to see the ivory and ebony keys, sitting down and pressing one to make a familiar, yet unplaceable sound.

"What's this?" he asked. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It sounds like a piano," she said, transmuting onto the stage and standing behind him. "D-Do you know how to play?"

He tickled a simple song instinctively on the ivories, a light and airy key of sound, and shook his head: "no… never have. I've never seen one before."

He continued to play, and Melanie listened, calmer from the tempo. She looked down at her feet until the song picked up to be a bit more serious and fuller with dedication. It was as though Elijah wasn't playing at all; in fact, Melanie could have sworn he channeled the song and lyrics from an otherworldly source. His voice was a soft cross between baritone and tenor, serenading her:

" _A bird that is not mine..._ _  
_ _Three birds that belong to her_ _  
_ _One emerald-green,_ _  
_ _One snow-white..._ _  
_ _One golden, flashing like a_ _  
_ _Sunbeam through the night..._ "

Charmed by his tonality and richness in his voice, Melanie sat next to him on the wide piano bench and he looked over at her, his fingers playing with no effort at all as he continued:

 _"When at first he saw her..._ _  
_ _It seemed she had no name_ _  
_ _She sat alone, and it seemed to him..._ _  
_ _That the light and her face were the same..._ "

Melanie noticed that his pupils enlarged, and his singing voice got lighter with the next verse, _  
__"Her hair shone, streamed blond and gold..._ _  
_ _He thought, 'Maybe, I'm going insane...'_ _  
_ _Her gown was no more_ _  
_ _Than the water could cover..._ _  
_ _This time would not come again..."_ _  
_He looked at her even more as he sang his tune, encapsulating Melanie in a spell from which she did not want to be released; she found it so sweet how he was serenading her:

" _And the white mares dance..._ _  
_ _And the Lady asks..._ _  
_ _"Take my wisdom with you...I shall ride..._ _  
_ _If you kill the dark Lord of Death..._ _  
_ _Someday, I shall be your wife...'"_

That did it: _I hope he isn't getting close to me just to become King in my father's place_ , she thought. She knew if that were the case, she would spare her father the worry of executing him, the first in the kingdom's history up to that point, by doing it herself. Nevertheless, she still listened: _  
"_ _And the birds are still singing..._ _  
_ _And the song is now sweeping..._ _  
_ _Like a silver, a silver shimmering flood..._ _  
_ _For you, Melanie..._ _  
_ _I will fight,_ _I will fight the world..._ _  
_ _For you, Melanie,_ _  
_ _I would fight..._ _I would fight the world..._ _  
_ _For you are in my blood_ _  
_ _For you...are in my blood_ …"

The last few lines resonated strangely with her, too – she was in thought, but before she knew it, Elijah's face was right up to hers, as if wanting to kiss her finally after all that time. She stood up and looked down at him, straightening out her skirt and blouse. He was not scared, more so puzzled, at her stern, almost angry expression.

"I apologize, Princess… d-did you not like the song?" he asked her.

"Give me one good reason _not_ to kill you painfully right here," she grunted.

"W-What… what have I done to displease you?" he asked, falling off the piano bench and getting on his knees. "I'll make amends…"

"' _Kill the Dark Lord of Death'_ , Elijah?" she inquired. "Are you _serious_?"

He realized his error – he had never once thought of committing treason against the kingdom and going down in history as the first person to be executed for such a crime in Regnum Infernale. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped up at her, shaking his head rapidly.

" _No_! No, Princess, I swear!" he said avidly. "I love your father, Our King, Lord, Savior… Master of this world… it was just the song…"

Melanie's tone was facetious: " _just the song_ …"

She telekinetically lifted him off the ground and against the wall behind them, holding him still as she withdrew a knife from her garter under her skirt, holding the uber-sharp blade up the base of his throat and pressing into his skin with gentle pressure. He could see the anger in her eyes, turning from their bright blue to a spectral white. He strangely was not scared, but instead it got his blood pumping to other places because of her literal and metaphorical hold on him. He tried to control himself but found it difficult.

"Please, my Princess," he said as he stifled a breath, his windpipe right under the knife. "I did not intend to offend you in the slightest."

"You want to marry me so that you can take the King's place," she said with fervent rage. "How else could I have taken that part of the song, Elijah?"

"There is a chance you would not even _choose_ me," he said. "I could never make a great King, not as great of one as your _father_ if you were to actually choose me. Even if you didn't, I would respect you and serve you as though I were. I am your eternal slave, Princess. I would be happy being at the lowest stratum of this kingdom just for _you_ …"

She took a step back, taking the knife away from his throat and letting him down off the wall. He looked at her and got on his knees, leaning forward to touch his forehead to the floor before he went to kiss her feet and shoes, whispering "my love" every three seconds between kisses. Melanie was speechless – this man was willing to submit himself fully to her, worship the very ground she walked on, even if she didn't choose him to be the King at her side one day.

"Cease and desist," she ordered, her anger cooling down. He looked up at her, his skin blushing and his heart racing. "Rise to your feet."

He looked down at her and smiled lovingly, in a state of euphoria: "yes, my Princess?"

"I have never physically been with anyone," she confessed.

"Me neither."

"Not even at celebratory revelries or private liaisons?" she inquired.

He shook his head, and she determined he was telling the truth: "no, never… that is because I only want one woman to devote myself wholly to."

 _Good_ , she thought. "If you want… let's go to one of the empty suites in your compound."

* * *

It took them about twenty minutes to get to the compound in which Elijah resided, and this compound had at least eighteen empty suites, most of which were used as accommodations for when celebrations took place. The others from the other sanctuaries who came for her birthday celebration had already departed three days ago, and when they got into the room, Melanie sat down on the bed, which only had a cover and top sheet on it complete with two pillows. He looked at her, and she slowly unbuttoned her blouse, but at her request he unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. He got on his knees as she sat back down on the bed – she was clad in black lingerie consisting of a black lace bra, panties, and a garter belt which held up her stockings. She was still wearing her shoes, which he looked up at her for approval to take them off. Her eyes said everything, and he took off the first shoe, kissing her arches and toes before making his way up to her ankles. Doing the same with the other foot, he moved up.

Melanie looked down at him as she felt his kisses go up her shins, behind her calves, and to her knees. When he got to her thighs, however, she moaned because he paired his lustrous kisses against her skin with caresses. He undid her garter belt and took the top of each stocking in his teeth, pulling them down and off her as he repeated the process of kissing from her feet to her knees once again.

"Are you sure you've never been with anyone?" she asked. He gazed up at her as she sat up, taking off his shirt and tossing it aside to reveal lean muscle on a slender frame, which her fingers eagerly explored the surface of.

"Never," he said, softly caressing her skin. "I just read a lot of this in books…for the day when I would have to use these skills."

She smiled and pulled him up to her. Looking down into her eyes and at her chiseled, beautiful face, he grazed her cheek with his palm and leaned in to kiss her gently. The way he kissed sent electric bolts through her body, and as he increased in fervor, she felt it even more, moaning as she held him close to her. He pulled back again to look at her before slowly moving in toward the side of her neck, which made her moan excessively.

"Elijah," she called out. The fact that he was causing his Princess pleasure and taking her to paradise made him want her even more, his hands caressing her sides up and down until he looked down at her bra. Biting his lip gently, he fiddled with the front hook and looked up at her for approval.

"M-May I? Please?"

As she nodded, he undid the hook in the front of her bra and pulled the cups open, gazing at her pert, pink nipples as he helped her remove the garment entirely. His hands cupped them gently, careful not to cause her any pain because when he was reading about this in a book, he had interpreted the word "sensitive" as "painful". He could feel her heart beating under her chest as she purred softly with contentment. He just kept looking down at them, enamored with their softness as he kept fondling them. When he leaned down and planted kisses all over her breasts, she was moaning even more.

"Elijah… that feels nice… don't stop…"

He nodded: "anything you want, Princess."

He continued to orally stimulate her breasts while fondling them, but when he got to her nipples, he ran his tongue around them, circling it as he suckled her for dear life. She felt a newborn need spark inside her, and the area between her legs became moist and hot with desire. She gave him a hint to go down lower, to which he eagerly obliged, kissing down her abdomen, all over her pelvic bones.

"Please," he begged.

"What?"

"This hurts… in my pants," he breathed heavily, standing up to show her a rock-hard erection about to burst from his jeans. She sat up slightly and reached down to undo his pants for him, reading his soul as he watched her: _what an honor…I just hope it doesn't scare her how big I am_.

"Big?"

"Oh yes… it's big," he smirked under a lustful breath.

She pulled down his pants and was greeted by a long, thick member no larger than eight and a half inches, nine at the very most. He saw her bright blue eyes light up, her jaw drop as she reached down to touch him. He moaned under his breath, feeling himself about to burst all over her right then and there – it was his first time, too, after all. She stopped, laying back down again and prompting him to get back on top of her. He looked down and saw she still had panties on, and he took the liberty of caressing her thigh, but asking for her permission to pleasure her down there.

"May I? Oh please, Princess…" His begging was adorable and so respectful.

"Yes, you may, Elijah," she approved breathily.

He wasted no time in taking her panties off, and he was spellbound by the sight of it. He knelt down on the floor and brought her to the edge of the bed, staring at it in awe. There was a small tuft of blonde hair at the top, and her lips were puffy and swollen with arousal. Elijah curiously took two fingers and felt how wet she was, making her moan quietly. After he got enough of her liquid on his fingers, he tasted them and moaned – she didn't really have much of a taste, but he could taste a sweetness akin to strawberries. He inhaled lustfully and opened her legs, resting her thighs on his shoulders and went to town, starting slowly with long, slow licks from below her entrance to the top, where he circled around her clit each time. As he repeated this, she felt her body be set ablaze in ecstasy, moaning louder than she was. Elijah took this as a sign to keep going, so he did. His hands caressed her thighs with a feather light tough as he continued to work his tongue, even putting it inside her virgin entrance.

"OH! Yes… yes…" she panted, holding his head closer.

Again, he was happy to oblige to her every command as her self-proclaimed slave. He'd do anything to make her happy, satisfied, wanting more. He gently sucked on her clit, and teased her entrance with a finger, but before he could insert it, he looked up at her.

"I don't want to cause you pain, my Princess," he said. "May I finger you?"

She nodded: "it may help."

"I'll be gentle," he sighed, putting his index finger into her. She groaned just a little but didn't feel a lot of pain.

"Put in two instead," she suggested.

"Oh yes, of course…" As he did so, he could feel the resistance of her tightness around his digits, feeling her body start to writhe from the sensation. It felt like her walls were coiling against his fingers, which made him picture how he wanted his cock to feel when he put it in her for the first time. Elijah, knowing that this was causing her pleasure more than pain, leaned in and flicked his tongue against her clit as his fingers moved in and out of her, causing her to have an unannounced orgasm, getting her juices all over his mouth. He licked up every drop, looking up at her before he took his fingers out. He used the same hand to stroke himself rapidly toward the tip, lining it up with her entrance and leaning forward for an intimate look into his Princess' eyes.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded: "yes… please…"

He took his hand off his member and let her guide it into her; this felt so much thicker than his fingers, and as he entered, he growled and panted from the tight squeeze it gave him. She let out an anguished moan, causing him to pull out and kiss her softly.

"That hurts you," he said with remorse, caressing her face and tracing his fingertip on her jawline, "I promise, I'll go gentle."

"Put it back in, I need to get used to it," she commanded.

With her legs open and receptive, she let him slide it back in, causing her to feel another sting of pain. She held onto him, pulling him close as she felt the painful first invasion, but in a few seconds it got better. He was prompted to thrust a few more times, growling like a tomcat as he felt his cock being squeezed by her coiling entrance. Every drop of wetness just made him want to thrust faster and lose his inhibitions, to which Melanie responded with light scratches across his back.

"Yes, Princess," he said under a moan, "use my back as a scratching post. I am yours, mind, body and soul…"

Her moaning became gradually louder, her toes curling and her body writhing under him as he struggled to last. Elijah's hands found their way to her hips, holding them as he kept thrusting, faster and harder, until he felt like he was going to explode.

"Oh Princess… please… I can't anymore… I can't… I can't…" His panting along with his relentless thrusting made her want to finish at the same time as he. _He's seriously asking my permission to release_ , she thought incredulously.

"It's okay… I'm going to, too!" she shouted.

"Let's go together."

He gripped her hand and put it up over her head, entwining their fingers as he made a few more pumps, shooting his white-hot orgasm inside her. His face collapsed into the crook of her neck as she screamed in his ear; he didn't care if it hurt his eardrum, he just wanted his Princess happy and satisfied. He left a trail of fervent, quick kisses up her neck, to her earlobe, down her cheek, to her lips, where hers received him with wholehearted passion. His cock seemed to fall out of her entrance, going limp once again. The two got under the sheets and decided to spend the night together in the empty suite.

"How was that, Princess?" he asked her when they were facing each other in the bed. "Did I please you?"

She nodded: "yes… it was… everything I could have imagined and _more_."

Elijah smiled with satisfaction, showing two rows of perfect teeth, his icy blue eyes looking into hers: "can I say what is on my mind, and in my heart?"

Melanie raised her eyebrows permissively, prompting him to speak.

"I'm in love with you," he confessed. "Ever since I first saw you, my heart has just been in the fieriest depths of hell, destroyed and reborn… I thought love at first sight was only in the books I've read… or the songs I listen to… but… I have it with me. Not just because you are my Princess and I am your subject, but because I feel like you are _home_ , as a person, to me." He paused. "I know I am not worthy to be the consort of a Princess, who is to become a great Queen, because I have not much to give, except my love and devotion… and my full submission. Forgive me for my blasphemy… but worshipping an infernal goddess here on earth, in this kingdom, is more sensible than worshipping the one under our feet."

"I don't find it blasphemous," she replied, her eyes bright and shiny. "After all, my father and I are the embodiments of that same power. What is the difference?"

Elijah nodded and smiled: "do you love me, too, Princess? I… I am hoping you do, but… if you don't, I will wait. I will forever serve you, still, as though you chose me above any other man in this world."

Melanie looked down at him, propping herself on her elbow and smiling: "I do love you, yes." She sensed his heart fluttering. "If I ever find out you are with another woman, I will _fucking_ destroy you."

He giggled, almost turned on by her dominance over him: "no need, Your Infernal Highness… I'd die of a broken heart first."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 _ANOTHER piece of smut! This story is on fire, I don't recall ever writing this much sex in a story of mine. Well, what do you expect in a satanic post-apocalyptic utopia?_

 _Thanks for sticking with the story, shoutouts especially to **Lex-in-Affex** for inspiring me to add this content to my stories, also shoutouts to **Winchestergirl123** , **Hexenbiest** , **sheshe073** , **HisoDAMN** , and **Puffgirl1952 the 2nd** for your reviews and feedback and overall reinforcement to keep this story going. You all rock!_

 _Also, a note that the song Elijah sings is called Maker of Birds by Stevie Nicks._

 _Favorite and Follow to stay tuned with future updates to this story...that being said, STAY TUNED!_


	13. Ch 13 - Forbidden Fruit

**Chapter 13 – Forbidden Fruit**

At the precipice of dawn, Elijah made his way upstairs from the suite he had spent the night in with Melanie. He had offered to walk her back to the suite she shared with her family, but she declined.

"No, I can get there myself, thank you," she had said.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, I am sure."

The entire walk up and elevator ride to his floor, he had been thinking about the night before – the Princess really was a princess in every sense of the word, exactly as he pictured it. She was an infernal goddess in the flesh, the subject of his devotion and worship. Her beauty mystified him, as did her sensual, supple skin, the sound of her moans as he touched and tasted her, and the way that even the smallest command asserted her dominance over him. His heart fluttered as she tried to enter the suite he shared with his mother, who he discovered was at the stove cooking breakfast. His eyes widened to see the flames around the frying pan were high enough to almost reach her face.

"Where have you been?" he heard her ask.

He sighed: "out."

"With who?" Mallory asked her son, not making eye contact with him as the flames died down. She turned the burner off on the stove and put pancakes on a plate for her son – they were his favorite. He sat down and took a bite before speaking. His mother soon joined him with her own plate, garnished with fresh-picked strawberries from the Queen and Princess' planting efforts.

"A friend," she said vaguely.

"You've said that for the past week, Elijah," she said, averting her gaze from his. Looking into his eyes reminded her of a time she would have much rather not thought about. "Tell me who, please."

He was reluctant but was straightforward: "well… it's the Princess… H-Her Infernal Highness, mom."

Mallory's weary chocolate brown eyes widened to life, looking at her son gravely. He slowed down his fervent chewing of his breakfast and washed the contents down with a glass of water. The look in her eyes intimidated him a little, so she inquired what was wrong.

"Mom?"

"Elijah, do _not_ associate yourself with that _family_ ," she said with nervous spite.

"Why not?" he asked, "we are their loyal subjects!"

"Loyal to a fault," Mallory said, " _please_ , don't."

"But…" he said, almost like a little kid wanting to do something. "Princess Melanie, she likes me. She lets me call her Princess Melanie without all of the formalities. In fact, I _more_ than like her."

Mallory shook her head, taking her son's hand: " _please_ , Elijah! Please! If you know what's good for you, do NOT get involved with that family. The King can and _will_ kill you, and I will be killed too just for saving you."

Elijah felt heartbroken; the thought of not ever seeing Melanie again was enough to make him feel this way. He felt tears forming in his icy eyes, but he wiped them away subtly, so his mother would not notice his display of emotions.

"But… I would die for her if I had to," he said quietly. "Not just because I'm a loyal subject, but because I would do anything for her."

"It's not worth your life, Elijah," she told him. "Please, promise me you won't see her again."

"But…"

"No 'buts'", she said as she shook her head.

"I can't make that promise. I _love_ her," he said ardently. "I am her eternal slave..."

Mallory found no use arguing with him: _as we all are_ , she thought to herself as she silently ate and looked down at her food, paying her son zero attention.

* * *

Melanie got up to the suite she shared with her family rather quickly, changing her clothes before hopping into the bathtub. She pulled all of her golden curls up in a clip and sat down in the hot water. She was in a state of utter euphoria, but what if her father were to notice she was gone all night? This wasn't like the old world, where a man felt shame if his daughter was deflowered before marriage. This was a satanic utopia, the complete antithesis of what once was. This was a place where revelries of all kinds were welcomed during regal celebrations – drinking and dining in excess, group sexual liaisons, dancing until your shins got splints. That aside, the lives of the subjects in Regnum Infernale were relatively good with the same hedonistic pleasures, and the royals, her family, were even equal to their people to an extent. They did not live in some grandiose stone palace with hundreds of rooms and stained-glass windows – they lived in a compound like everyone else, but their suite was distinguished by the size, capacity, and contents within. Their clothing, higher quality than their subjects, was also a distinguishing factor aside from their presences alone. It brought a whole new meaning to what a 'small world' was, because everyone knew who the King, Queen and Princess were.

She dried off and got dressed in a black satin button-up blouse with black, full-length culotte-style pants with a tie belt. On her feet were flat black boots with buckles, and her golden hair was up still in the clip from her bath. Inspired by her father's eye makeup, she put on a light red shade on the inner corner of her eye socket, shading from her tear duct to the inside of her eyebrow. The rest of her makeup she did as usual – light pink blush on her defined cheekbones, and a light gloss on her lips. When she walked out of her bedroom from getting ready for the day and began to smell fruit in the hallway. She was led to the kitchen, where Miriam smiled back at her.

"Good morning," she said jovially. "Your father has been looking for you. You look sharp."

"Uh…" Melanie turned her eyes from her grandmother down to the table, where her father turned around and looked at his daughter. He raised his eyebrows at her, noticing his style of red shadow being worn by her.

"Ah, I see I've inspired you," he said haughtily.

"You have, yes," she said. "Is it true what grandma just said?"

He nodded, gesturing to the chair across from him, where she sat down and looked into his eyes, glaring and authoritative. Yet he was eerily calm and spoke with conviction; it unnerved her.

"Yes, it is true. Who ravished you last night for the very first time?"

Miriam, being an android, could not blush but she nearly giggled after hearing her adopted son say that. Melanie's eyes widened; she could not ask him how he knew, because he had a fine-tuned Dark Night of the Soul talent that she did not have.

"I was with Elijah," she said. "I… feel this _comfort_ when I am with him. He is devoted to me, like a slave to its master. We have been seeing each other for a week just about."

"I do not want you with him," he said sternly. "Melanie, he is not _fit_ to be King."

She rose from her seat and looked down at her father: "who said I was going to choose him?! So what if I _did_? You said so yourself, I could have anyone I wanted to be the King at my side one day. Now you're rescinding it and saying I _can't_?"

"Melanie, I looked up that boy's name in the Cooperative's genetic databases. You do _not_ want to be with him," he confirmed, taking out a thin pale-yellow folder with an odd identifier at the top tab; it read: "EJCR11522". This was how the Cooperative identified every single person in the new world, akin to a Social Security Number once used in the United States. She looked up at her father with uncertainty, shaking her head.

"Why does genetics matter at all, dad?" she asked.

"Read _every_ detail," Michael ordered.

She hesitantly opened the file and saw the following information along with a front facing photo and side profile, which made her blush slightly looking at it; he was so handsome. She read the stats, her face blanching with shock as she shook her head:

 _FULL NAME:_ CROSS_ELIJAH

 _HEIGHT:_ 5"11 (1.80m)

 _WEIGHT:_ 178lbs (80.7kg)

 _EYE COLOR:_ BLUE

 _HAIR COLOR:_ BROWN

 _DOB:_ 11/15/2022

 _AFFILIATION_ : REGNUM INFERNALE, SUBJECT OF HIM

 _PARENTS:_ XXXX, MALLORY; **HIM** LANGDON, MICHAEL

The horror fully set in. Her bright eyes were full of sadness and pain as she glanced at her father before reading any further, where there was a peculiar list for the Cooperative's use. It was in very neat, cursive handwriting:

IN CASE OF ARRANGED BREEDING, PLEASE REFRAIN FROM PAIRING THIS SUBJECT'S DNA TO THE FOLLOWING OTHERS:

 _ **HIH**_ _, LANGDON, MELANIE_

 _BLACKWELL, LYDIA_

 _FITZGERALD, ISLA_

 _CAMPBELL, ASHLEY_

Then, there was another written section, entitled, " _Notes_ "; the trepidation only grew:

CROSS_ELIJAH IS NOT ELIGIBLE FOR THE THRONE OF REGNUM INFERNALE. BE AWARE OF CERTAIN ABILITIES AS HE GROWS.

She closed the file slowly and sighed, looking down at the cover of the pale-yellow file folder with a stoic, pale expression. The young man she had fallen in love with was her own flesh and blood. He worshiped the very ground she walked on and kissed her feet (quite literally). She had shared a bed with him and lost her virginity to him the night before. That whole week, he had worked to sweep her off her feet, and they had even practiced their powers together in amusing ways. Did he know that he was a son of the King?

"He is your brother, Melanie," he confessed.

She looked at him, irately hissing: "how could you _hide_ this from me?"

"I was hoping I'd never have to tell you. However, you both did have a chance encounter," he said to her.

"Does mom know about this?!" Her voice was in an angry hiss; her ferocity was burning so badly that she felt her true demonic form was going to peel off her outer layer and just appear like a dark, tattered butterfly out of a rotting cocoon.

"She does!" he exclaimed, feeling his emaciated, pale face show itself to his daughter to assert his authority, his eyes turning black. She was not scared of him in the slightest. His voice also turned a deep, demonic tone. "She didn't like it, but I had to for our _people_! The other sanctuaries had more population growth than we did, so I rounded up the most fit women in this sanctuary and we gathered one night in the Lodge."

As his face morphed back to his more human form, Melanie felt tears of hatred and anger in her eyes. She shook her head – she cannot remember the last time she cried for any reason. This was just the tip of the iceberg – how was she going to break this news to Elijah? Did he know?

"Does he know?" she whined softly, her heart breaking in a million pieces.

"No," he said complacently. "His mother was instructed to never reveal his true identity."

"What harm is it," she began as she wiped her eyes, "if he is no threat to the crown? If he is my _own_ brother?"

"Because he is a subject," her father stated sternly. "Nothing more."

Melanie, recalling Elijah's demonstrations of his powers, some of which she herself could not do, challenged her father directly: "he _is_ fit to be a King. He is not just some _subject_ to me, even though he would willingly stay in that echelon of the kingdom if I asked him to. I've seen him move things with his mind, go place to place without occupying the space between, he knows things about people and places and objects, I've seen him coerce people with just his mind alone, and I have witnessed him cause _fires_ with his mind. _I_ cannot even do that." She paused, looking at her father indignantly. "I cannot believe you would do this to me, _Father_ …I feel sick to my stomach. I have to go."

With that, she turned on her heels and left the suite. Michael was going to use concilium on her to keep her in place for her insolence, but before he could, she was out of the place. As she moved apace, her eyes filled with tears and she started to cry harder than she ever had in her life, attracting some attention from passersby. Her love was also her half-brother, and they had bitten into the forbidden fruit together for one of the worst taboos imaginable – what was a girl to do?

* * *

Melanie had gone to the library to find the same book she had been reading with Elijah that day after her birthday celebrations, testing his powers according to the Seven Wonders within. When she procured the book, she took it to the Lodge, where she was certain it was empty as it always was. Out of a storage cabinet, to which she telekinetically opened the doors, she grabbed a few old votive candles and light them with a match, as she did not possess pyrokinesis. She was seated on the floor, the tome opened to Descensum.

Reading the description curiously, she learned that it was once one of the most perilous undertakings a Witch could make, as it involved a journey to the underworld. _Piece of cake,_ she thought, _I was conceived down there, for crying out loud_. She took a look at how to put herself in the state to descend, and it involved the chanting of an incantation, which she memorized before she kept the book face up and open, laying back with the candles she lit on her side. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes, reciting aloud; her voice was an echo in the Lodge, reinforcing her confidence to perform this:

" _Spiritu duce in me est…_

 _Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum…_

 _ut salutaret inferi…_

 _DESCENSUM!_ "

* * *

Melanie looked around, nothing but a white light above her in what looked to be a black, enclosed space. It was silent, but she could hear the echoes of dripping. She did not want to stand just yet, but she called out into the void before her.

" _Hello?!"_

She then heard an echoey, shadowy male voice _: "you seek answers, my child."_

Melanie nodded: _"YES! I do! Please… be kind as to show your face."_

" _State your purpose."_

" _I… I am Melanie Macaria Langdon… my father was created by Satan, thus I am his child, Princess of Regnum Infernale. I seek advice and counsel. Please, show me your face."_

She nearly gasped, unnerved by the sight of a man with short, disheveled raven black hair, pale white skin that was so light it looked gray as he came into the light for a better view. His face was chiseled, his eyes black as night, much like her father in his true form. He was nude, his hands and feet like claws with talons, like he was a bird of prey. Behind him extended a pair of gray bat wings, which startled the Princess as she took his extended hand.

" _Thank you,"_ she said, bowing deeply in reverence.

" _There is not a need for bowing_ ," the mysterious creature said softly, " _you are one of us_."

Melanie let the hellish spirit fly in the air and take off with her in hand. She felt weightless, like she was in outer space, as he traveled down into the void in front of her. She felt a hot wind hit her face and blow her curls around. They seemed to fly over a weak, poorly-supported bridge over a lake of lava toward a ledge with a man in an all-black cloak; Melanie saw him from her distance up in the air that he was quite familiar. Like she, he had radiant golden hair with a white halo around his head, His eyes were dark but warm, his gaze radiating up at her in the air and even as she descended to the ledge where he was. She was put down gently on her feet by the respectful demonic spirit who took her down there.

" _She is here,"_ he said in an intelligible language.

" _Thank you,"_ the man with the halo said. Melanie looked up at him; at closer glance, he stood about 6"6 and smiled down at her with perfect, straight white teeth. His shiny flaxen hair was wavy and well-kept, and he looked quite young, physically between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. She knew that this would be the first time in her life she bowed to someone, rather the other way around.

" _I come in peace…or chaos, in this case,"_ she said, touching her forehead to the obsidian surface of the cragged ledge. _"I…"_ She rose up to her feet, starting to sob and cry, thinking of what he father said: _"I'm so_ confused _…"_

The blonde man in black with the halo on his head looked at the Princess comfortingly and took her in his arms. Melanie rested her crying face against his cloak, which was made of soft wool, and she felt his hands caressing her hair comfortingly.

" _There, there,"_ he said in an ironically angelic voice. " _You are in love, but your father permits it not."_

" _How did you…"_

" _I know everything_ ," he said, his eyes looking down at her bright blue ones and flashing a mixture of red and black: _"I am Lucifer, the light-bringer… cast out of heaven, for I questioned the ideals of an Almighty God._ "

Melanie's eyes widened: _"Lucifer? Are you…"_

" _Michael is my son, sent to Earth to wipe the slate clean and start the world anew_ ," he said regally. " _You are of my flesh and blood… just as your love is_."

" _He is… why would my father… my OWN father, do this to me_?" Melanie shrieked without holding back. " _He hid this information from me that Elijah is my brother…now I'm confused…I don't think I_ should _love him, nor reinforce his love for_ me _."_

" _Is it_ really _so wrong_?" Lucifer asked his spawn, keeping his arm over her shoulder as they overlooked the ledge down below into the tortured souls swimming in the river of lava beneath them.

" _I know that Regnum Infernale has no concept of taboos save for a few grievous ones. We would never encourage pedophilia or bestiality but…_ incest _? This could cause so many problems! I don't want my family making like the Egyptians and marrying their siblings and relatives_." She paused. " _I don't want my child to have clubbed feet, cleft lips, or other abnormalities_."

" _The Egyptians ruled in great power for thousands of years despite all of that_ ," he reminded her. " _They were descended from great beings… as are you and Elijah… descended from_ me."

" _What about the file I saw from the Cooperative_?"

" _They are just a measly association doing exactly the same thing as what rulers did in the old world_ ," he scoffed. " _I have dominion over all of their mortal souls, as does my son, your father_." He paused. " _Some are not even human, so they are exempt from being owned by me and my descendants_."

" _What if I_ don't _choose Elijah as my King_ ," Melanie expressed. " _He's told me before that he would be willing to just serve… should I let him_?"

" _That young man is made for way more than just serving under a_ very _promising future Queen. He is not a weak individual by any means. He even surpasses_ you, _in power_ ," Lucifer said, making Melanie feel a little insecure. " _Do not fret_." He continued, walking back down the ledge. " _He is the son of the Antichrist and a Supreme Witch, who does not know she is so… she has been under an identity spell for years, but it is best she stay under it until Michael, your father, is out of power_."

" _Perhaps maybe_ I _could undo it_ ," Melanie suggested.

" _Or Elijah_ ," he said. " _Coco, the woman you resurrected when you were a mere child, is also under the identity spell_."

Melanie and Lucifer could suddenly hear off in the distance a familiar echo. The voice was calm and masculine, yet also very human. It sounded a lot like Elijah: "Melanie?"

Lucifer smiled once again, looking down at his spawn: " _he beckons for you_."

" _But…"_

" _You must make it back to your body, my dear. You will disintegrate_ …" His voice at this point started to fade away in the distance as she was picked up off her feet, flying through the depths of hell, " _be on your way… I am here… always…_ "

She felt her soul drifting away, but she was desperately reaching for her maker…

* * *

Elijah had divined Melanie's location to find her in the sanctuary, and his first impression was indeed the Lodge. He walked in slowly to see she was laying down, perfectly still, with candles lit and a book opened to the page entitled "Descensum". He knelt down to be at her side, watching for any signs of life. Looking at the reversal of the procedure, he was prepared to try and bring her back if she did not return to full consciousness. He sighed, waiting patiently for the Princess' soul to come back to her body with his fingers hovering over the reversal of Descensum.

That was until he was startled a bit from Melanie jerking up, sitting with her palms to support her as she wheezed in fresh air. Elijah smiled at her, but stayed put, his icy eyes proud of her for attempting such a dangerous feat. He sat with his legs crossed inward on the floor, his hands on his knees.

"I'm not finished! I'm not finished!" she shouted. Realizing she made it back safely, she put her hands on her chest, feeling the satin of her blouse, to make sure it was all real. She nodded, looking around and then seeing Elijah sitting there with his piercing eyes staring lovingly at her. He wore dark blue pants and a plaid shirt with a collar that buttoned down underneath a lightweight dark blue cardigan. His brown hair looked darker in this light, and actually a bit straighter with a slightly greasy film to it. In fact, it looked like he hadn't washed it in a few days. She looked down at the distressed floor sadly.

"Hello, Elijah," she said; he could sense the sadness not only in her voice, but around her.

"Hey, what's the matter? Are you upset, Princess?" he asked, moving a little closer to her. Before he could inch any further toward her, she held up a palm, using concilium.

"Don't," she ordered solemnly. He felt his heart break, and he sniffled a little as he felt a tear fall from his eye.

"Did I do something wrong? How did I offend you? I'll make it right," he said in a slight whine that cracked his voice.

"It wasn't anything you did, Elijah," she said, averting her eyes downward. "We do need to talk, if you please."

"Of course, _anything_ ," he said, staying put as he was told. "I… wanted to tell you something, too, but you go first."

"Alright," she began, sitting more properly upright. "We have bitten into forbidden fruit."

Elijah smirked contently at her, and she was able to pick up on his thoughts: _I know, you're my half-sister_.

She was puzzled, her bright blue eyes incredulous: "you _know_?!"

"Well, I _didn't_ know. Not until today," he clarified. "I told my mother I was with you. When I got back home, I saw my mother making pancakes, and she asked where I had been… I was with you, of course, and I ended up spilling the beans. She told me not to associate with you out of fear the King would kill me…"

Melanie's eyebrows perked up in shock, shaking her head rapidly; "no, no…" She moved closer to him and cupped his face in her hands as he continued to speak, looking down and meeting her gaze.

"I proclaimed myself as your eternal slave, Princess Melanie… and then for the rest of breakfast she didn't pay me any attention at all. She ignored me," he continued sadly. "I brought it up again to her, telling her not to speak of the King or _you_ in the way she did… not in a blasphemous way, but she was not very happy about it. She told me why we should not be together… because she knew that you, Your Infernal Highness, are my half-sister."

"How come she never told you until now?"

"She was sworn to secrecy," Elijah disclosed. "She confided in me… that it was the worst night of her life… she felt like if she did not comply with his Majesty, she would be killed. He almost tried to kill another woman that was in that gathering for refusing and being hesitant. There were a few more _zealous_ subjects of yours there, and my mother was there to watch until she went last."

"My father told me he did it for our people, because at that time, we did not have a high birth rate in this sanctuary. The others did, but not this one. That was his plan to get some more people in here," Melanie explained. She was unnerved that he described the women as practically being coerced by his immense power and influence to participate in that night's revelries just to add some more babies to the population. He reached to cup her face in his hands as she was doing for him, but now they moved to his shoulders, his eyes smiling down at her.

"It doesn't matter now. The past is the past," he reminded her. "Sister or not, I still feel the way I feel in my heart for you. We could be doing way more _immoral_ things, but… this is _love_. We aren't hurting anyone."

Melanie nodded, her eyes closed as she spoke: "my father will not be very happy with this."

"Neither will my mother," Elijah said, "but to be away from you is a fate worse than death."


	14. Ch 14 - Blasphemy

**Chapter 14: Blasphemy**

Timothy and Emily Campbell were the two lovebirds in Outpost 3 who were nearly killed by Venable for being together – now, even though they were not officially married, they lived as husband and wife. Emily adopted his name when she was registered as a subject of Regnum Infernale, a regime she knew she could only submit to in order to survive. Before the apocalypse, she had been an avid liberal protester, passionate about ending racism and discrimination against people of color as well as the abolition of so-called "white privilege". Yet in the new world, in this kingdom, there was no concept of race, no unjust system for her to fight against. There was no concept of poverty or disparity, either – this satanic utopian kingdom was full of hedonistic, earthly pleasures to be enjoyed. Everything shunned in the old world, save for a few grievous taboos and blasphemies, was welcomed here. Most everyone was equal save for the minor distinctions between the very few in the royal family versus their loyal subjects.

Yet one flaw in this society she bore in mind since that fateful night at the orgy with her Lord and Savior was oppression. She had outright refused to be part of it and was nearly choked to death as a consequence for challenging the King. In the old world, she could have reported him as a leader of some sick satanic cult, and Michael would likely be arrested with any luck; at the very least, a police report and no further investigations. In this brave new world, she could not even speak out against him for fear of losing her life for treason and disloyalty. Was the new world of Regnum Infernale really so different from the old world?

Emily and Timothy were proud parents of three fully human children – Rachel, aged four; Devan, aged three, and Katherine, only eleven months old. However, their firstborn, a daughter, was different in every sense of the word – Ashley. More accurately, she was _Emily's_ firstborn – Timothy stepped in as a father figure for her because her real one was unknowable. She had inherited her mother's dark, Afro-Latina features; dark, kinky curls, a tanned complexion, and dark brown eyes that looked practically black. She stood about average height, five-foot-five, and the most astounding fact about her? She was just five years old. She had the appearance of someone seventeen or eighteen, a full-grown human adult. Ashley was not fully human, though.

She was Emily's shame – she did her best to try and treat her eldest well, but every time she looked in her eyes, she saw the face of the man who nearly killed her but went on to defile her that fateful night before moving onto the others. Yet, she also was satisfied more by Michael than by Timothy – she hated what she had to do but enjoyed it at the same time. It felt so dirty to her, knowing that someone who was not even human had his way with her. Timothy knew of her pain she had to live with, but they could not speak out. They had children, a family. Ashley could be more than capable to raise her younger siblings by herself, but it would not be the same.

Emily had been busy preparing dinner, while Timothy was trying to keep the kids calm as they waited for her to finish. Rachel and Devan were still on soft foods but were treated to small bites of meat of vegetables when they could get them. Baby Katherine was still on breastmilk, and Timothy headed toward the children's shared bedroom to put her in her crib to sleep.

"Timothy?" he heard.

"Yeah?"

"Dinner's ready, come on."

He walked back out to the dining and kitchen area and sat down, gesturing the other two young children to sit in their seat as well. However, Ashley was not there yet. He looked around, and then at Emily, who shook her head indifferently, putting the contents of the pan she was cooking with into bowls. It appeared to be a soup of sorts. Timothy smelled the air and smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

"Smells good," he said.

"Yeah…" she seemed weary. "Better than those jelly cubes we were served."

Once she sat down, the front door of the suite opened. Timothy and Emily looked to see it was Ashley, her kinky black curls wildly hanging over a rather plain outfit, like most of the subjects in Regnum Infernale were clad in. It consisted of a black dolman sweater tucked into a pair of navy-blue pants that resembled slacks. Her shoes were simple, shin-length lace up boots. One could easily see she was wearing black wool socks because there was a gap between the hem of the pants and the top of the boots on the leg.

"It's about time you join us," Emily said. "Are you hungry? I just made some pea soup."

Ashley shook her head: "I'm not that hungry. I need to sleep."

"We'll save you some," Timothy added. "Oh, and be quiet if you can. The baby is sleeping."

As she walked away, she muttered under her breath: "of course, she is."

Walking to the room she shared with her three siblings, she went on her bed and laid back, keeping her boots off the side edge. She took in a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, trying to find some tranquility. Then, she heard her human baby sister cooing and babbling; she turned her head briskly to her side before getting up off the bed and walking over toward the crib in which Katherine laid, her big dark eyes smiling obliviously up at the ceiling and then at Ashley. She gazed down at her with envy, saying contemptuous words.

" _You_ get to age normally. I don't," she said quietly, annoyed by the baby's unmindful chatter. "I'm supposed to be closer to Rachel's age. A five-year-old… give me a break… in _what_ universe?"

Suddenly, she felt her vision begin to throb, as if a really strong heartbeat was making it do so. Looking down at Katherine's wiggling little body, she could see her torso vibrating through her yellow onesie. Ashley could feel saliva generating behind her lips, and she ran her tongue over the outside of her teeth as if her baby sister was stimulating an appetite she otherwise did not have for her mother's bland pea soup. Her stomach growled like a ferocious lion, feeling hungrier as she began to sense little Katherine's heartbeat without a hand on her.

 _Why am I suddenly so hungry_ , she thought to herself as she picked the baby up instinctively from the crib.

The baby started to cry, which drew Emily and Timothy's attention from the dining area near the kitchen. They looked at each other with wide eyes, thinking the exact same thing – Ashley had woken Katherine up. Emily calmly instructed Rachel and Devan to stay seated and continue eating while they went to investigate why she was crying so much. The crying stopped as soon as they got up, but that did not stop them from going into their children's shared bedroom, opening the door to a horrifying sight. Emily's dark skin blanched, while Timothy's white skin got even whiter when they saw Ashley's mouth and shirt covered in fresh blood. There was a bloody folding knife laying on the rug, also soaked with blood and what looked to be fabric and human tissue. Timothy nearly threw up at what he saw her doing – Katherine's little heart had been missing from her open chest cavity, and she was feasting on what looked to be a larger organ, perhaps her liver. Ashley kept feasting until she looked up at her parents in a daze. Tears grew in her eyes when she realized what she'd done – the baby was dead. She had a hankering for her organs to eat.

"Oh no…" she said, shaking, looking down at the baby's lifeless, dissected corpse.

"GET OUT!" her mother screamed, reaching and grabbing Ashley by the hair so hard that she felt her scalp was going to rip from her skull. She felt her body being dragged out of the room, feeling her mother's feet kicking her with such force she felt like a bone was going to break.

"OW! LET ME GO!" Ashley screamed, her mouth, chin and teeth covered in blood. "I DIDN'T MEAN TO!"

"YOU KILLED MY BABY, YOU _MONSTER_!" Emily said, shouting and growling furiously at her half-demon daughter. The children jerked up to their feet from the dining table when they saw their mother dragging their older sister out of the suite, and once she got the front door with her, she kneed her in the face so hard that Ashley could hear a crunch.

"OW!" she grunted. She felt herself being thrown out into the hallway – her face was in so much pain that she had tears in her eyes not just because of the weight of the situation, but because the pain radiated to the nerves responsible for producing tears.

"DON'T COME BACK!"

 _SLAM!_

She could not believe it – she had killed and eaten the innards of her baby sister, and was beaten severely by her own mother as a consequence, left out in the stark-white hallway of the compound outside the suite, where she heard hysterics behind the door. She could even hear Rachel and Devan screaming and crying, and Timothy was vomiting and retching from what he witnessed. Her face was hurting so badly it started to burn. She blindly felt around her face, feeling for the source of the pain and where she was injured. It was not a cheekbone or an eye socket. She got to her nose and felt the cartilage protruding out, and it was folded in such a way it obstructed her breathing. She kept her mouth open and tried to stand up, using the wall as support. She almost felt faint, her hearing going fuzzy when she heard a voice:

"Is everything alright?"

She couldn't answer, but all she could see was that it was a strikingly beautiful blonde young woman with wild curls that framed her diamond-shaped face, dressed in a black taffeta opera coat-styled top with a pair of black slacks. She looked incredibly familiar – then again, this was the same compound where the royal family resided at the topmost luxury suite. Was this Her Infernal Highness, Melanie?

"I…"

"What the hell," she heard a muttering and a hand on her face, to which she let out a scream of agony.

"AHHH!"

"I'm sorry," said the voice, but her vision was fuzzy. "You're coming to the clinic with me, _right_ now. You're going to tell us everything that happened to you."

* * *

Melanie could not believe what she saw in the hallway of the compound – a young, Afro-Latino woman with her nose so badly fractured she couldn't even breathe, causing her to feel faint. Her mouth, teeth, chin, and the front of her clothes were soaked in blood, but she knew that was from a different source. _What did she do to get blood all over herself_ , she wondered. She was sitting in the waiting room at the Clinic, waiting for the doctor to come out and tell her what had gone on, and possibly ask her questions about what she witnessed. It had been close to two hours when the doctor finally came out to summon her.

"Your Infernal Highness," he said, bowing his head. Melanie stood up, her boots making a metallic sound from the chains attached to them, staring into his eyes inquisitively.

"Yes?"

"What exactly did you see when you saw Ashley Campbell?"

 _That's her name_. "I was trying to leave the compound. I heard screaming and went to investigate. Lo and behold, I see here there, trying to stand up but then she collapsed again. She was faint."

"As was she just now," the doctor answered, writing down Melanie's testimony. "Do you possibly have an idea why I could have found human muscle and organ tissue in her teeth?"

Her eyes widened in shock. _I didn't know we had cannibals in this sanctuary_ , she thought. "N-No… I was not actually _there_ to see what happened."

The doctor nodded and continued, putting the pen in his lab coat pocket: "she has a severe nasal fracture. The entire nose will need to be reconstructed. She also has a few broken ribs. Luckily, they are minor fractures compared to what happened to her face."

"May I please see her?"

"You may," he said. "But she will not be very responsive. She is going into surgery in exactly thirty minutes."

Melanie nodded, but had an idea; she had an uncanny gut feeling that Ashley was another one of Michael's offspring: "may I see her file?"

The doctor looked down at her and was silent for a moment, shaking his head: "I apologize, Your Infernal Highness, but that is strictly confidential."

Resorting to concilium, she bent his will to that of her own, effectively and quickly: "you forget who I am. I have unlimited clearance to any one of our subjects' files, genetic or otherwise. You are to hand over her file."

His arm shook, holding the pale-yellow file folder out to the Princess as his gaze was locked onto hers: "y-yes… Y-Your Infernal Highness."

"Good." She tucked it away under her arm and smiled. "I will return tomorrow to check up on my friend. Thank you, doctor."

He bowed his head and walked back into where he came from, back to his work and carrying on with his evening. As she walked down the hallway of the entrance to the Clinic, she saw two very familiar faces that she once knew as a child. It was Emily and Timothy, and they both stared at the Princess with odium and hatred. Melanie saw the former running toward her with an irate growl, and with pure instinct in the face of a possible threat by her charge, she telekinetically launched her against the wall, her back thudding against it as she came back down to the floor. She could feel the outside of her face morph into that of her true form, spectral white eyes and bearing a frightening grin consisting of two rows of pointed teeth. Emily breathed heavily, screaming at the top of her lungs.

"YOUR FAMILY WILL ROT IN HELL, WHERE YOU BELONG! MY BABY IS DEAD! ONE OF _YOUR KIND_ RIPPED HER APART AND ATE HER!" Tears flowed from her eyes as she continued to scream. "I CURSE THE KING AND HIS _OPPRESSION_! HE _DEFILED_ ME! WHAT KIND OF A KING DO YOU CALL THAT?!"

"Are you fully in your faculties right now, Emily?" Melanie asked rhetorically, eerily calm like her father would in the same situation. "Or do you disregard the fact that you could find yourself _dead_ for blasphemy?"

Emily spat on the floor in front of the Princess' feet: "OFF WITH YOUR _HEADS_!"

Melanie leaned down, but didn't get on eye level with Emily, her former friend from Outpost 3, speaking to her like she was not the Princess, but just another subject. She knew she would have to kill her herself if she got to eye-level with her subject: "and _out_ with your _heart_."

The Princess walked toward the door with a smug look on her face, knowing full well history was going to be made. She looked at two Cooperative guards, telling right away that they were of the android variety, as they approached the scene. Their robotic voices and silver faces were directed at her as they bowed.

"Your Infernal Highness, is something the matter?" one of them obediently asked as programmed.

"Yes," Melanie replied, pointing at Emily and Timothy, even though the latter did nothing wrong. "Take _both_ of these _blasphemers_ away, if you please."

"Yes, Your Infernal Highness."

Emily and Timothy quickly got to their feet to try and resist the guards, but they were no match. They were programmed with superior strength and agility, able to trap them effectively in death-eating grips. Timothy shouted at the top of his lungs, proclaiming his innocence.

"IT WASN'T ME! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! SPARE ME!"

"Do not resist…" One android Cooperative guard said.

"LET ME GO!" Emily shouted. "THIS IS OPPRESSION!"

"Do not resist…" There it came again; same robotic voice, as if it were programmed to repeat it. Melanie walked away, hearing the commotion get further and further behind her. There was one more repetition of "Do not resist" before she turned around to see the guards resorted to jabbing tranquilizers into their necks to make them fall asleep. Now, they were deadweight, but they were androids made for the sole purpose or guarding the sanctuary; thus, they could carry this dead weight.

* * *

Later that evening, Melanie was sitting in the living room part of the open concept, a fire whirring in the fireplace as she took a minute to peek into the file of Ashley Campbell. It revealed her name, identification number being AHCL113022. Within were her height, weight, eye and hair color, affiliation to Regnum Infernale as a subject, her date of birth was November 30, 2022, and it revealed that her mother was Emily Campbell and her father was none other than His Infernal Majesty, King Michael. It also disclosed that she was not eligible for the throne by the King's decree. It also said that she had three human siblings – Rachel, Devan and Katherine. Of course, it had not been updated to exclude Katherine, as she was now dead.

"What do you have there?" she heard. Looking back, it was her father standing in the doorway, his silky golden hair tied back in a ponytail as his smoldering gaze looked upon his daughter on the sofa.

She sighed – "a file." She thought for a minute before closing it and setting it on the coffee table, taking her feet off the sofa. "I met another one of your _offspring_ tonight."

"Who?"

"Her name is Ashley Campbell, daughter of Emily, the girl I tried to befriend in Outpost 3," Melanie explained.

"How did you encounter her?" Michael teleported to be closer to the sofa and sat down.

"You saw me leave the suite earlier," she started, "after that I went down the elevator, I heard screaming and found her in the hallway. She was _covered_ in blood. That blood was not hers, though. I could tell and sense it. I took her to the Clinic, where I have been the last two hours, and last I heard, she was in surgery to reconstruct her nose."

 _She must have eaten someone's organs_ , Michael though as Melanie read his mind and soul.

"So… she's like _us_ , in that way? She cannot eat normal food like everyone else?" Melanie inquired.

"She must be just discovering her taste for it. I have eaten organs since I was a mere fetus. I was a twin, I ate my brother," Michael disclosed, standing up and pacing with his back erect and his hands behind his back. She looked up at him attentively; he was clad in a wine red dinner jacket and a trademark red scarf over a black dress shirt. "That's why I was so shocked to learn that twins were born that same year."

"Wait…" Melanie said, furrowing her brow, "you didn't know they were yours. How could you…"

"I learned about the others when I looked up Elijah Cross," he told her, looking down at her sternly. "There is a set of identical twin boys, plus another son, and two other daughters. Seven children total that are mine are _not_ royals or in line for the throne, by my decree."

Melanie looked down and nodded – it still disgusted her so much to know that she had other siblings by mere subjects that gathered with an orgy the King himself hosted as an effort to boost the population. It disgusted her even more than her own mother was okay with this, or coerced to think it was okay by Michael.

"All I know," she said. "We are about to make history _very_ soon, dad."

"Why is that?"

 _Knock-knock-knock_!

Michael went to the front door and pressed on the automated communication system attached to the wall. In the old world, they had smartphones. In the new world, they had these, attached to be adjacent to the front door of every suite for the same purpose. It also allowed residents to speak directly to whomever knocked on their door. He pressed the button, and the other side spoke in a familiar robotic voice.

"Your Infernal Majesty, it is the Cooperative. We have urgent news," the android guard said.

He opened the door promptly and both of them bowed to their knees to their King and Master, who looked down at them. When they got to their feet, he let them enter the suite. Misty, who had been taking a bath, was trying to take her clothes to the hamper outside the bathroom and saw the two guards, unnerved.

"W-Who…"

"Your Infernal Majesty," they both said at the same time, bowing in the same way to their Queen before rising to their feet. "We have urgent news."

"Urgent?" she asked.

"What is it?" Michael asked. Melanie turned, peeking from the front of the sofa behind her to see the exact same guards who witnessed the commotion with Emily and Timothy and took them away into custody.

"You have blasphemers in your kingdom you need to execute," said a guard. Michael looked at Melanie, who met his gaze, before looking back at his subjects.

"Who?"

"Emily and Timothy Campbell," they said.

"What did they do?"

"They tried to attack me, Father." Melanie's tone was more formal, as she was taught, in the face of her subjects. She got off the couch and continued, looking at her father. "I was leaving the Clinic with Ashley, and Emily charged at me. I tossed her against the wall, and she said profane things about me and the rest of the family."

"Like what?" Michael asked, coming closer to her and putting his hands on her upper arms.

Melanie looked up into his eyes solemnly, every word coming out like poison to his ears: "that she cursed the King, meaning you, she cursed the family. She also said that the sanctuary is oppression, and the classic 'off with your heads' line."

"Did she?" Michael's voice sounded deliciously deviant.

"She did."

"We have surveillance of what we were able to capture," a guard said. "Would you like to see it, Your Infernal Majesty?"

"Yes. I will visit the quarters of the Cooperative soon. Are they being held?"

"Affirmative."

"Great."

When the Cooperative guards left the suite, Misty looked at her husband and moved forward. She looked at Melanie with sympathy, feeling bad that she was nearly attacked.

"Melanie, you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, but they won't be," her daughter smirked.

Misty turned to her husband inquisitively: "what're you gonna do to 'em?"

He turned to his wife and smiled down at her, putting his hands on her waist and speaking softly, but she was unnerved by how casual he was: "I have waited so long to do this. I have waited so long for someone to commit treason or blasphemy against their Lord and Savior, just so I could once again experience the pleasure of torturing poor, spiteful souls." He paused, taking in a deep breath; "I will give them their just deserts."

* * *

As promised, Melanie visited Ashley in the Clinic the following day as soon as she was able to. She got up from bed, took a shower, dressing in a simple yet elegant outfit consisting of a red fitted satin blouse with a necktie accent at the collar tucked neatly into a black pencil skirt. Her outfit was accessorized with black stockings, pumps, and the dangling ruby earrings gifted to her by her father. Before heading out the suite, she took an empty Mason jar and snuck some raw offal from the refrigerator; she included slices of raw beef tongue, brain and heart into the jar and put it in her bag. She walked to the Clinic and inquired about Ashley's hospital room. She was let in without question to visit her, and as she walked down the hallway in the recovery wing, she heard a boyish, masculine voice coming from the room she was told was Ashley's.

"I'm fine," she heard her say nasally. "I just feel bad for…"

"Don't sweat it," the man's voice said. "No offense, but it was only a matter of time before you were left out on your own."

"Gee, thanks, big shot," Ashley answered. "I have nowhere to go, now."

"You could stay with _me,_ " she heard the man say suggestively.

"No. I know exactly what you're doing, John. Not cool," Ashley said.

Melanie stepped into the open room, and looked at Ashley, her kinky black hair messy and framing a face mostly covered in a thick layer of bandages and surgical tape. She looked to be cleaned up of all the blood from the night before, however, which was a good sign. She also was focused on the tall, handsome stranger in the room, who was staring at her grandiosely with his distinctive hazel eyes. His hair was flaxen blond and softly gelled, and his face was chiseled. He was also quite muscular underneath a lightweight gray jacket and black undershirt. Like most of the subjects of Michael, he dressed rather plainly, but something about him got her wondering – _another half-sibling, perhaps_ , she thought. His eyes seemed to widen at the Princess, and he stood up, approaching her confidently with an all-too-familiar gait.

"Oh… you're the Princess, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I am John Vanderbilt," he introduced, bowing as he took Melanie's hand and kissed it. "It's quite a _pleasure_ , Your Infernal Highness." The way he said "pleasure" made her want to jump in the shower a second time that day.

"Pleasure is mine." _Shut up_ , she told herself, _don't say that. He's a filthy horndog_.

"Your Infernal Highness…" Ashley said, sitting up to be more comfortable. "Thank you… for helping me. My apologies for not being very formal like I should have been last night, but…"

"No," Melanie said, going over to the hospital bed and rolling over the overtop table gently, reaching into her bag and pulling out the Mason jar full of raw organ meats. She screwed off the cap and pulled out a slice of beef tongue and chewed it before setting it down for Ashley. " _I_ should apologize. I didn't know you liked organs so much. Please, enjoy."

Ashley's eyes lit up like a little kid on Christmas morning as she reached into the jar and pulled out a slippery, jiggly piece of beef brain, putting it on her tongue and moaning at the gamey taste. John sniffed the air and smiled, trying to reach into the jar, but the patient only slapped his hand away.

"No, they're _mine_!" she said selfishly. She looked up at Melanie suspiciously: "so, you know what happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," the Princess said, sitting down and crossing one leg over the other. "All the doctor said was that you had _human_ muscle and organ tissue stuck between your teeth."

"She ate her baby sister," John cut in bluntly.

"I didn't ask you."

John's eyes just widened – _feisty, I fucking LOVE it_ , he thought as she read every word. She rolled her eyes and let Ashley speak once she swallowed the piece of beef brain she was chewing.

"I didn't even _tell_ him," Ashley said, shaking her head as she pointed at the door. "Big shot, can you get out for a bit?"

"I'll be waiting," he said sarcastically, flipping his hands up in the air as he walked out. Melanie shook her head, annoyed by John's pompous attitude.

"You know him?"

"He's kind of a friend," Ashley said hesitantly. "He's always bragging and causing trouble but, I still try to be nice."

"So, what happened that caused your injury?"

"My mom beat me and kicked me out of the house," Ashley said. "I feel so bad… I did a horrible thing." She started to cry, and Melanie's eyes widened. " _Please_ , don't have me executed!"

"Depends on what you did," the Princess said. "Did you happen to _eat_ a family member?"

"Yeah… that's what happened," Ashley confessed. "I came home from hanging out with two of my friends who are also like me, and… my mom offered me pea soup… smells like pee, too, so I said I wasn't hungry. I went to the room I shared with my siblings, and… baby Katherine was in her crib trying to sleep. I went to check on her, and before I knew it, her heartbeat tempted me. I killed her…" She sobbed, feeling the pain coming to her face where she had surgery performed. "I cut out her heart and liver and ate them."

Melanie shook her head: "unbelievable."

" _Please_ … I know it's bad what I did," Ashley said with shame.

"When did you start to crave organs?"

"I have had temptations for a while now, but up until last night? Never had any, not even animal organ meats. Well, until _you_ brought me some, which I thank you for, Your Infernal Highness."

"You're welcome," smiled the Princess. "You were just doing what you were made to do. When I was a baby, I had goat milk and pureed organs to eat. I couldn't take to formula."

"SAME!" Ashley exclaimed. "I had to be fed goat's milk, but I was never given organs. I don't know why, because that isn't normal baby food."

"Well, enjoy what I have given you. I will be back in a few days," Melanie said, standing up and gathering her bag, " _if_ you would like."

"I'd love that, Your Infernal Highness!"

Melanie walked out of the room and bid her subject farewell. She walked down the hallway, looking down at her feet before she saw none other than John appear in front of her, as if by transmutation. Her eyes widened, and he bowed before her with a cocky smile.

"Ah, Your Infernal Highness," he said. "Leaving so soon?"

"Yes," she said bluntly. "I _am_." She tried to walk past him, but he resumed to walk by her side, trying desperately get her attention.

"Hey, you got a man, Princess?" he asked.

She was horrified with how he was addressing her: "you are _not_ to address me in such a crude manner, John Vanderbilt." She was purely mocking his name. "I am Melanie Macaria, _Her Infernal Highness_ , Princess of Regnum Infernale, and you are the use _the second_ of these titles! You are not my friend, but my _subject_. Move along."

"Aw, I'm sorry," he said, desperately trying to keep her interest still even if it was a few words. "I didn't mean to make you mad. Promise."

She continued to walk, moving a little bit faster but he caught up effortlessly, trying to hold her attention: "can you tell me who got nabbed for blasphemy?"

She stopped and looked at him with irritation in her expression: "how did you _know_?"

"I know things," he said, moving in front of her and looking down at her. "A lot of things. Maybe _too_ much."

Using lectio animo, she was able to read his mind right then and there: _I have fucked almost every girl in this sanctuary, except for a few_. He licked his lips seductively down at her, prompting her to act against him that did not involve telekinetically tossing him down the hall.

 _SMACK!_

Her hand wrapped right across his face, leaving a red distinctive handprint on his cheek. He groaned and felt his face go numb for a bit as he felt where she hit him.

"OW!"

"I've decided about you," Melanie said. "Watch what you think about around me, because I see through everything. Unless you want to end up in my father, the King's, torture chamber with the blasphemers, I suggest you keep your lascivious thoughts to yourself. Is that understood?"

As if under a spell, he nodded: "perfectly."

She walked out of the Clinic and saw Elijah walking by it. He stopped in his tracks, and his eyes were smiling down at her. He outstretched his arms and took her in a warm embrace, kissing her forehead. He had to whisper the informal way he addressed her as to not attract too much attention.

"Hello, my Princess," his voice cooed. "How come you're coming out of the Clinic? Are you okay?"

"Oh, yes," she replied. "I'm just fine. I've never been sick in all my life save for the sick-to-your-stomach feeling you get when something makes you cringe." She paused. "What are you doing?"

"Just out, clearing my head," Elijah answered with a smile. Yet she knew that there was something there he was not quite telling her.

Both of their eyes diverted to the entrance of the Clinic, where John came out and walked up toward them. He had a very hostile look in his eyes toward Elijah, who looked back at him with a rage and level of protectiveness she had never before seen on anyone except for her father.

"Aw, Elijah, _you're_ with her? Damn shame, I feel sorry for her," he snided.

"Don't," Melanie said like a smart-Alec. "You should be _happy_ for me. He's great."

"You back the _fuck_ away, John. I'll _kill_ you if you ever lay a hand or _a gaze_ on her!" he growled. Melanie was shocked at how possessive he was – how else could he have been?

"She needs a man fit to be _King_ , not a little pussy who runs away when he has a _boo-boo_!" John exclaimed.

Melanie had to restrain Elijah from acting on his anger in public like this; there were not many people walking out and about, but there were a few. Some had even watched the spectacle as they passed by. Before John could get up in his face, she looked around to see if anyone was actually watching before telekinetically launching him in the air and far away from them enough to buy them time to walk away. They did – but Melanie only wondered why Elijah and John had such an intense beef with each other.

* * *

That evening, Michael had arranged for Timothy and Emily to be publicly executed; the event was to be filmed and sent to the Cooperative agencies in the other two sanctuaries so that everyone was able to see it. Viewings were mandatory, but for those lucky enough to be in this sanctuary, they were given dinner and a show. The dining experience was not as lavish as a birthday or the coronation, but it was still sumptuous enough, reflecting the horn of plenty courtesy of Misty and Melanie's labors. It was held in the Grand Hall, and formal wear was encouraged but not imperative. The meal consisted of five courses instead of the usual seven, and about two hours after everyone had finished and had a chance to digest, the main event occurred.

The blasphemers were brought out, their necks and ankles tightly bound in iron shackles and chains, one behind each other. They were also butt naked for added humiliation. Melanie, sitting between Michael and Misty, looked on with trepidation and anticipation for the main event, her eyes widening at the numerous deep cuts, bruises, lesions, and gashes left from what looked like a lengthy torture session. He was nowhere to be seen all day – perhaps that was why. They struggled to stand, but Miriam cracked a whip on their backs to make them keep going before their King, who rose from his throne and raised his arms up to silence his subjects; they were the loudest part of the whole thing, swearing and cursing at the traitors to the kingdom that provided their salvation from nuclear holocaust. When they finally reached the edge of the stage, Michael looked down at them with a vengeful, but blank expression.

"Bow before your King!" Miriam barked. "Perhaps he may show you _mercy_."

"Mercy is not in the equation," Michael announced to his followers, holding out a knife with a razor-sharp blade of at least nine inches. Timothy and Emily could not even look up at him until the former was grabbed roughly by the shackle on his neck, groaning in agony as Michael's eyes turned a demonic black in front of him, digging the blade into the area just below his rib cage, cutting upward as he watched the life leave his eyes. Emily screamed in horror as she watched her partner's heart being torn out, only to be taken up to the King's mouth. He bit into it like he was holding an apple, and the crowd that watched the brutal execution made sounds of wonder and astonishment.

He then moved onto Emily, taking her up the same way, but he looked back at Melanie, who took it as a signal to rise. Misty felt sick to her stomach, nearly retching from the sight as she watched Michael repeat the same form of punishment for Emily, who screamed and grunted, struggling to hold onto dear life even as she watched her heart being torn from her thoracic cavity. Michael handed it to Melanie and smiled – this was her first consumption of a human heart.

Taking the heart, she looked at Emily: "off with _my_ head? Out with _your heart_."

She took a big bite as Michael dropped her like a ragdoll onto the floor. She could taste the gamey flavor of human blood and muscle tissue as she bit into the ventricles and arteries that once connected the heart to the rest of her body. She looked at her father, whose piercing blue-green eyes widened; it was almost like the shadow of her true form appeared behind her, and her eyes turned spectral white. Michael finished them off, though they were merely corpses at this point, by using pyrokinesis to set them both aflame until they were nothing more than ashes. As the fires burned, Miriam charged up the followers once again.

"AVE SATANAS!" she exclaimed, inciting the crowd.

There was absolute pandemonium, and Michael raised his arms, inhaling the scent of burning flesh as his followers cried out in a mixture of ecstasy and fear, chanting "ave satanas" over and over at an inconsistent rate. They gawked at how brutally the royals punished the blasphemers before them, and even with the sacrifice of their hearts to the gods on earth they served. History was made for sure.


	15. Ch 15 - Who is John Vanderbilt?

**Chapter 15: Who is John Vanderbilt?**

"Have you and John always had a beef?"

Elijah had to sneak the Princess into his suite and into his room. They got heated and passionate, so they had to remain quiet as to not wake up his mother the night following the execution of Timothy and Emily Campbell. After they had sex, they were laying underneath the plain sheets of his bed. Her head rested on his chest, and he felt like he was in absolute heaven despite the subject matter being unpleasant for him. She felt his chest rise and fall as he sighed, making her look up at him for her response.

"Yes. Ever since we were little kids," he said. "Our mothers knew each other, more like my mother served _his_ mother. Her name is Coco. She's okay, kind of a snob. In the old world, she was filthy rich."

 _From Outpost 3, the woman I resurrected_. "I know who she is."

"You do?"

"Yeah, she was in Outpost 3. I was a kid at the time. She was killed by her boyfriend, who snuck into the outpost, but I brought her back," she explained.

"You can do that?" Elijah asked with an impressed smile.

"Yeah, so can _you_ ," she hinted. "Tell me, what has John done to you?"

"I am not one to get angry easily, but John boils my blood to no end. He is reckless, has no heart, only wants to _fuck_ every girl he sees, and he is too caught up in his fast-lane lifestyle to care about anyone but himself," Elijah explained heatedly. "He's a prick, Princess." He paused. "I can describe so many incidents with him."

"Give me an example," she commanded.

Elijah sighed: "when we were two years old, he gave me a wedgie and set my pants on fire. He's got this ability to start fires with his mind, like I do."

"Pyrokinesis," she said.

"Yes. I almost died. I could have burned to death," he explained, leaving nothing out. "He wouldn't have cared, nor would his asshole friends. They're twin brothers, Axel and Hunter. Though, out of the two, Axel was the worst. Sadistic…" He trailed off. "They're _both_ douchebags, though. The twins can do stuff, too. They can go place to place, as can John. Except they would toss things in the air at me. One time, all three of them teleported all around me so I couldn't escape, and they jumped me. They would taunt me… often I'd be covered in bruises."

"You didn't tell your mother?" Melanie inquired.

"I did, but there was not much she could do," he said sadly. "Part of me thinks she never _wanted_ me, and thus didn't care enough to protect me." He paused again, thinking of what to say next. "Coco tried to stop her son from being a bully, but not even _she_ could do something. She caught him beating or taunting me a few times and she intervened. That aside, not much was done. Do you remember the time I told you I almost burned this compound down?"

Melanie knew exactly what he was going to say next, so she completed his thought: "you were angered by either the twins or John, provoking your pyrokinesis?"

He nodded: "yup. It was John. As a matter of fact, he lives a floor below this one in this compound. He was chasing me through the hall with a bat, trying to swat at me. Maybe he was trying to up his game with his beatdowns, but… I got so angry and scared. I was cornered. I set the bat on fire and he transmuted out of the way, and it started a line of fire all the way down the hallway."

 _That is why the compound hallways, save for the one leading to mine, no longer have carpet_ , she thought.

"Yes, that's why. Because of me," Elijah said.

Melanie looked shocked and confused for a moment: "did you… read my thoughts?"

"I… don't know," he answered with a smile. "All I know is, I have dreamed of getting revenge on him for all these times he's done me wrong."

"Hm… perhaps you _can_ ," Melanie smirked with evil seduction, tracing her fingers up Elijah's abdomen and chest. "A little… life-sucking pain never hurt anyone."

"What?" Elijah gasped. "I don't want to _kill_ him, Princess. I just want to make him suffer. Teach him a lesson."

"Oh, I have a better idea than _just_ killing him," she giggled sinisterly. "He will _never_ bother you again with what I have in store."

* * *

Just below them in said suite played loud heavy metal music coming from a room within, where John was sweating bullets from the ecstasy he just shared with a regular partner, Lydia. This was a habit for him – meeting up with females in the sanctuary, seducing them, and bringing them back to his home suite for a sexual liaison. Sometimes it was the other party's suite, and sometimes it was in groups at royal celebrations. He had only started having sex in groups that year, but it was one of his favorite things. For all he knew, his insatiable lust may have contributed to population growth. The girl who had been riding him got off and he was panting in ecstasy, his member sensitive still from almost an hour straight. He took the remote for the stereo and turned the music up even louder and sang at the top of his lungs. The girl, Lydia, propped her head up while laying on her side and shook her head:

" _New world disorder, oppressed upon mankind_ _  
_ _Burn, your blessed trinity, your holy book of lies_ _  
_ _Blind faith euphoria, the parasites they feed_ _  
_ _Your endless worshipping, will satisfy their greed_ …"

He continued, putting his fists in the air as she started to practically scream the lyrics. To Lydia, it seemed like he was praying to their King, Lord, and Savior through the guttural, headbanging song:

" _Faithless in the eyes of God!_ _  
_ _And reverse your holy cross!_ _  
_ _Renounce your crown of thorns!_ _  
_ _DEFILE YOUR MOTHER, WHORE!_

 _AVE SATANAS!_

 _AVE, LUCIFERI EXCELSIS_!"

Lydia shook her head: "you're such a dweeb."

"Hey!" he snapped sarcastically, pointing his finger at her. "This is a _fucking masterpiece_ , Liddie. This should be the anthem of our great kingdom."

"If I had to listen to that _every time_ Their Infernal Excellencies walked down the aisle to their thrones," Lydia said, "my eardrums would bleed. You have that on _too_ damn loud, I can't hear myself think."

"Ooooh," he cooed teasingly, going toward Lydia on the bed and tickling her sides. "I found myself a blasphemer! You looking to get your heart ripped out and eaten, huh?"

" _Stop_!" Lydia screeched, laughing hysterically. His tickles hit just the spot to make her cackle like a cartoon witch. Except, she was far from that.

He looked down at her – Lydia Blackwell was a striking red-haired beauty with whom he had grown up with, alongside twins Axel and Hunter, as well as Ashley, still in the hospital recovering from surgery. She looked up at him as she laid beneath him, her thick, long tresses fanned out around her head. She had dark blue eyes, a diamond-shaped face, a perfect nose, and lips with just the right amount of fullness. John was not one for commitment, but he once considered the possibility of choosing her. Yet she found him too damn annoying to pursue anything serious with.

"In all seriousness, I think His Infernal Majesty would love this," he smirked. "It really glorifies him. The old world was so full of bullshit lies, just to keep people blind and in line. I'd probably be burnt alive at a stake or jumped by a bunch of sheep if I lived in the old world."

"Someone's coming," the girl said.

"What?"

"Someone's coming down this hallway," she said, closing her eyes. "I can see it. She's wearing red."

"Red? _She_?"

"Yes. She's heading down here," Lydia said. "Who did you invite?"

"I didn't invite _anyone_ ," he chuckled.

"Sorta looks like the Princess," she said with more description; she was having a clairvoyant vision in real time. "Are you sure?"

He got out of the bed and put on his underwear and pants, button up the front: "aw, now _she_ is an end goal for me. Quite the challenge. It'd be an honor."

"Then why _don't_ you?" she inquired crudely.

"Because that _faggot_ Elijah has her," he snapped, looking down at her on the unmade bed.

Lydia shook her head and laid back in the bed, covering herself better with the sheets; in the process, a foot stuck out at the end of the bed: "leave Elijah alone," she said with disdain. "He never did anything to you to deserve how you treat him."

"He's a maggot," he said contemptuously, his voice going into a falsetto as he mocked him poorly. "A pussy, a whinebag… he was all like _'mommy, mommy, big bad John gave me a wedgie and I need help because I didn't clean my ass right, help me mommy_!'" He scoffed, even though Lydia laughed at how bad his impression was. "Fucking pathetic. I'd at least respect him if he was a _man_ and put up a fight… but _no_ , he's made it easy all these years to fuck with him."

"Careful," she said, "he may just kill you one of these days."

 _Knock-knock!_

"She's here," Lydia confirmed.

"Get dressed, you're dismissed," he commanded.

Without skipping a beat, he walked to the front door of the suite and pressed the button on the automated system to speak into whomever knocked on the other side: "hello, Vanderbilt suite."

"Ah, just who I needed to speak with," a familiar feminine voice said on the other side of the door. "It's Her Infernal Highness, coming to grant your wish."

He felt like a little kid on Christmas morning, smiling as he felt his member grow hard enough in his pants to strain and hurt against the fabric. He rose so fast, that he could have sworn being with Lydia for the hour was a mere illusion. He groaned and purred like a panther about to pounce on her if he were to open the door. He restrained himself and he opened the door, seeing Melanie with her curly golden hair up in a bun, and she was dressed in a very flattering dress that left a ton to his imagination – it was actually quite modest, a knee-length cocktail dress in a cranberry color that was gathered to one side at the waist. She wore black pumps for shoes, and black panty hose that were held up with garters underneath the dress. He wanted nothing more than to rip it off her and ravish her body with kisses, licks, and bites in the right areas.

"Your Infernal Highness," he said, bowing deeply before trying to kiss her hand. "You look _ravishing_."

She took her hand away, much to his disappointment: "you have to _earn_ that, Mr. Vanderbilt."

 _Ugh, please let me rip off your dress and fuck you in front of Elijah_ , he thought; Melanie could hear every word. She felt like gagging, but a plan was in place here.

"You're not fucking me in front of him," Melanie said, "just so we are clear."

"Does he even _know_ you want me?" he asked, his hazel eyes burning like fire down at her.

"Yes."

"Ah, I get it," John snickered, "he's a grade-A cuck now, too?"

Melanie put her hand at the base of his throat calmly, asserting her dominance over this impossible playboy: "you are _not_ to speak of Elijah at all. I don't want to think of him while you're…" She looked down, teasing two fingertips down his abs to the top of his pants, "giving me all you got."

"I will give you _anything_ you want," John said seductively, with fire in his voice. "Just _please_ , ease my frustration. I could beat the fuck out of someone with what's in my pants right now."

Melanie was distracted by the redhead, now fully dressed in a black t-shirt and gray pants, who had previously been in John's bed as she walked toward the front door. Lydia, who saw Melanie, bowed and greeted her appropriately before making her way out of the suite. The Princess looked at John and sighed through her nostrils.

"I see you've had quite a _fill_ today," she said.

"Oh yes, but…" he trailed off, "you see, I'm a man with unbridled passions and insatiable desires."

"Tell me," she pried slyly, "when you see a woman, what is your first thought?"

"Since I'm looking at _you_ , Your Infernal Highness," he whispered, moving closer to her; "I would let you plop down on my face, so you can sit for as _long_ as you want, before bending you over and fucking you to oblivion."

"Hm," she said, pretending it didn't repulse her. "If you're so serious, come with me, and I'll let you do just that."

* * *

Melanie's light, but strong coercive hold on her subject made it so he was in a daze. He did not know where exactly she was leading him. She was guiding him to the Lodge, but a potent sense of tunnel vision overcame him, staring at just Melanie and her behind, no one and nothing else. His brain was in a complete fog – his extra senses were not functioning. They were struck blind. Before he knew it, they stopped. He snapped out of it and looked around at the dim red wide room. His eyes fixed on the inverted pentagram up toward the vaulted ceiling, and bowed his head.

" _Ave Satanas_ ," he muttered reverently. "Please, Great King in Hell, oversee and bless this sacrament."

Melanie just stared at him. _He isn't serious right now,_ she thought as she witnessed the tall young man with flaxen blond hair turn around with fire in his hazel eyes, licking his lips and smirking. She approached him and got on her tip-toes, whispering up into his ear.

"Right here," her voice coaxing him into what she wanted him to do, "lay down."

She read his mind, and was disgusted by how lascivious and hungry he was for the main event, falsely promised to him. _Oh, dear Satan, please! Sit on my face… sit on my face…_

She rolled her eyes and lifted up the skirt of her dress a little bit, straddling him and tracing her hands up and down his muscular chest and abs. It disturbed her how hard he was between her legs. She controlled herself as to not be aroused, thinking about all of the girls before her that he had taken carnally. He groaned and purred uncontrollably under him as she lightly dragged her nails over his skin. Meanwhile, Elijah was hiding behind the piano in the darkness in the back of the Lodge. He peered at the sight, infuriated by it even more than John's presence alone was infuriating him. He looked down, holding the Princess' folding knife in his hands, having it at the ready.

"Please… please…" John begged with the Princess on top of him. "I'll have you just like this, but you're _killing_ me."

Melanie looked over at where Elijah was hiding, and he took it as a signal to use transmutation and go right next to John on the floor. The blond man gasped and nearly got up, but Melanie on top of him made it quite difficult for him to maneuver.

"Hey! No!" he exclaimed. "I'm not a fag! I don't swing that way!"

 _Sing-JAB!_

Elijah stabbed the folding knife into the side of John's neck, hitting his carotid in just the right spot to cause a massive, gushing spray of blood in the opposite direction where he was. Melanie got off her prey as soon as the jab began to gush, as to not soil her dress. In his last moments of consciousness, he looked up at the young man he had bullied and tormented for so long, soaked in his own blood as he was slowly exsanguinated by the stab wound.

"Lex talonis…" he said spitefully. "Do unto others, as they do to you. You probably didn't think I'd have it in me, but I've waited _so fucking long_ to watch the life leave your eyes…"

As John took his last breath of air, his head fell back, his jaw opening his mouth to a larger proportion than normal, his eyes wide open and staring blankly into space like a dead fish. Elijah took the knife away from where he stabbed him, and nearly fell to his knees from the sinful euphoric rush he got from killing John. Melanie tried to catch him, staring at the scene with a satisfied smile, but most of what she was feeling, she absorbed from Elijah and his utter ecstasy in that moment.

"The second-best moment of my life," he muttered to himself. He looked back at the Princess and smiled: "thank you so much for helping me."

"The plan isn't over yet, though," she said.

"What do you mean?" Elijah asked, getting back to his feet and staring down into her eyes. "What is next, Princess?"

"He's going to stay dead for a little bit," she said. "Maybe a few days. Expect the Lodge to reek of brimstone and sulphur."

"He's going to rot," he said, "just like I'd want him to."

"Yes but… you're going to do me a _big favor_ ," Melanie told him.

"What is it, Princess?" he asked submissively, getting to his knees and holding her hand. "Anything. _Anything_ at all, name it."

This was the perfect opportunity, when devising this plan, for him to demonstrate that he could do another potent power in the Seven Wonders: "bring him back in three days."

His eyes widened, almost feeling a sense of rage: " _what?!_ "

"Three days is quite a long time in Hell," Melanie said matter-of-factly. "That is why I suggested you kill him and leave him dead for a bit."

He rose to his feet, and she could sense the extreme reluctance toward her idea. She just stood there, staring up at him comfortably. She did not flinch, as she was not afraid of him anyways.

"Forgive me…" he said as a disclaimer, "but _are you CRAZY_?!"

"You even told me you just wanted to make him suffer a little bit, not _kill_ him," she reminded him.

"But… Princess," he said, growing tearful. "He _tormented_ me for a huge chunk of my life. Killing him just now, was the second-best thing to ever happen in my life, aside from meeting _you_." He sniffled, and she felt like rolling her eyes. "Please… please, let him _stay_ dead."

"We could compromise," Melanie offered. "Three days may be a bit too short of a time to let him rot, after all."

"I don't _want_ to bring him back," Elijah cried, being reminded of all the grief John put him through during their childhood and even up until then. "Even if I did… I-I wouldn't know _how_."

Melanie saw Elijah's moment of suffering just thinking about the unpleasantries with John in his life. How could the Princess propose taking away a source of his happiness, the very idea that John was no longer going to torture him with beatdowns, taunts and ridicule? He sobbed a little bit and walked away from the body and Melanie, who followed him as he plopped down on the edge of the short stage. He wiped his glacial blue eyes on the sleeve of his black shirt and sniffled, feeling a slender arm going around his shoulders. He looked at Melanie, whose bright blue gaze consoled him. He was silent and listened to her.

"One thing my mother, the Queen, has taught me is that death changes people," she explained, keeping her voice soft and gentle. "She has the power of resurgence. She has the ability to reach into that place between life and death and pull a soul back into its body, here in the mortal coil. She's seen firsthand how it can change someone." She paused. "Before my father initiated the apocalypse, there were Witches on this earth. She told me a story recently about one Madison Montgomery. She had been killed by the Supreme, or leader, of the time. Do you remember seeing her in the book we read?"

He nodded: "yes. What about her, exactly?"

"Fiona Goode killed Madison. She was dead for a total of two weeks. My mother was called upon to bring her back to life, and while she had a difficult time because she was _full_ of death, she _succeeded_. Madison was not nearly the same upon being brought back. She was worse, but then she was killed a second time by their butler. Lastly, my father brought her back during a Descensum attempt, and she turned into…a _much_ better person. She was willing to make the most of her third chance at life and help her sister Witches, even in trying to stop the inevitable…my father's ascension to his _true place_ on the throne of the new world."

"But… Princess," he said quietly, looking into her eyes, "what if he _doesn't_ change? What if it makes him worse?"

"It won't," she replied. "You know why?"

"Why?" His eyes widened in curiosity, reaching for Melanie's hand.

"Because he was a _rotten_ person to begin with," she smiled encouragingly. "He will _not_ pass up a second chance to improve his life and relationships with others around him."

Elijah looked over at the body, still seeping a pool of deep red blood around his upper body and head from the wound in his neck. He smirked at the tent still in his pants from when he was aroused from the promised sexual liaison. Melanie looked at him and smiled along with him.

"What is it? What's so funny?"

"He died _happy_ ," he cackled, referring to the erection still making a significant bulge in the corpse's pants. "What an _embarrassing_ way to die."

* * *

Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt was getting worried about her son being missing – by this point, it had been at least five full days since he went out of the suite and never came back. She had not been paying attention, which made her feel a bit guilty. She was used to him galivanting about, causing trouble with his twin friends or hooking up with girls, but he had never been away from home for this long. She had been waiting outside the suite Mallory, her former employee and servant, and Elijah shared just above them. She knocked, and heard the inhabitant's voice from the automated system attached to the door.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, it's Coco. Open up," she said. When Mallory opened the door, Coco gasped at how weary and weak she looked. She was once radiant and full of life, but now, she looked like an empty shell of what once was. Her soft brown hair looked less thick than she remembered from the last time she saw her, and below her chocolate-colored eyes were deep dark circles. She also looked gaunter than she remembered, and Mallory was always small in stature. She stepped forward and almost put her palms against Mallory's cheeks, feeling empathy she never knew she had.

"Mallory…" she sighed. "Are you okay?"

"I've been better. Come in," she invited.

She fixed her and Coco a hot drink before sitting down with her slowly; it was as though Mallory had a spine or hip problem. The older blonde looked at her, and felt uneasy at the decay of life she saw before her.

"Have you seen John anywhere?" she asked. "It isn't like him to be gone for so long."

"I have not," Mallory said, taking a sip of her beverage. "Why? Is he missing?"

"Yes, he hasn't been home in five days. I'm worried _sick_ ," Coco expressed. "Has Elijah seen him?"

"No. In fact, he's out and about. I don't know where he is, either," she said lifelessly.

"Mallory," Coco began, reaching for her thin arm. "I know I haven't treated you the best, or seen you in a long time but… what is happening with you? You look like you're really sick. Have you been to the Clinic."

"I have," Mallory replied. "There is not much they can do for me."

"Why? C-Can you tell me what it is?"

"That kid sucks the life out of me," Mallory confessed. "Ever since the day he was born, I have felt my life force evade me, slowly… I haven't felt _normal_ since he turned four."

"Life force… what the _fuck_ are you talking about?" Coco asked in her typically sassy manner.

"Look, it's nothing the doctors can do anything about. I have this metastatic cancer in little lesions all over my internal organs," she confided calmly; there were tears glossing her gaze over. "I first found out about a few months ago, and it's like… I'm fading. Fast."

"Cancer? What the hell? They can't… _fix_ you?" Coco asked incredulously.

"Apparently not," she replied. "I can't tell Elijah. He'd be devastated."

"I don't blame you, but… he's going to find out somehow," Coco said. "You really shouldn't be keeping that from him."

"I wonder if he would be so kind as to put me out of my misery," she wondered, "considering what he _is_."

Coco was in shock – she knew Mallory to be demure and quiet, but not morbid like this, especially about her own state of health and wellbeing. Looking at her, hearing her words, made her realize that Mallory did not want to be part of this kingdom anymore. Perhaps she never wanted to be, and only complied so she would live and hopefully have a good life under Michael's reign.

"Are you… talking about _treason_ , Mallory? Are you _kidding_? After what we saw?!" Coco exclaimed.

"This has nothing to do with the King," she corrected. "It's me. I bowed because I had a _will_ to live. I don't know why, but something inside me told me that I needed to bow to him in order to survive. I had hopes that someone, somewhere out there… would come and save me, or _all_ of us, and that the natural order would be restored. I've spent years now, feeling like someone else was inside me, but now… it's gone to Elijah, my _son_ …" Her voice turned to one of contempt. "As I am dying slowly, he is thriving, like I've _never_ seen _anyone_ thrive… at least, from what I can remember…"

Mallory took a sip of her drink, and swallowed it. However, she began to feel her breath start to wheeze. Coco stood up and went behind her, patting her back. _She's too young to be this sick_ , she thought, _she's almost thirty_. She pulled the chair she was sitting in out gently, and helped Mallory to her feet until she could support herself.

"Mallory, are you sure you don't want to go to the Clinic?" Coco ensured out of genuine concern.

She sighed, nodding: "I hope they have some solution."

* * *

"Vitalum Vitalis."

Melanie was reading off the open page in the book about the Salem descendants and the coven that once was alive, well, and cohesive prior to the apocalypse. Elijah was there with her, along with the decaying body of John Vanderbilt. The wound on the side of his neck began to fester, smelling like a horrible infection mixed with brimstone and sulphur. He was pallid and stiff in all body parts; yes, _all_ body parts. His flaxen hair was yellowing now, dried blood still in it. They managed to hide his body over the course of a week at this point, and even though Elijah was more than hesitant to bring his rival back from the dead, he was doing this for Melanie because she asked him to.

"That's what it is? To bring someone back?" he asked.

"One way, yes." Melanie nodded, "resurgence is the concrete ability to resurrect. Vitalum Vitalis uses the life force of the one using it."

"But what's the difference?"

"Vitalum Vitalis costs more of your life force. It can be used to drain someone else and use their life force, or you can give yours to someone sick or dead to bring them back to full health," she explained, also reading some of the information from the book.

 _She's got to be kidding_ , he thought. "He doesn't even deserve _that_ from me."

"Elijah," she said with aggravation, "just _do_ it. Trust me."

"I _do_ ," he replied. "I just… I don't know if I-"

"Your mother was Supreme Elect for the Salem descendants and we share the Antichrist as our father," Melanie reminded him. "Don't doubt yourself now. You _can_ do it."

Elijah nodded in agreement and gathered himself for a moment. He looked at the body they had to pull out from one of the trunks in one of the back rooms of the Lodge, where they hid him from being discovered. He was now laying on the floor, where he crouched down on his knees and looked up at Melanie for what to do.

"Melanie… what do I do?"

"Breathe your life force out into his mouth," he instructed. "Put a hand over his forehead and another over his chest."

He rolled his eyes, trying to block out the smell of death from distracting him from completing the task. He leaned down, closing his eyes and doing as instructed. With every exhalation, he became dizzy, and just before he felt faint, he could almost hear the first breaths of life come into John's body since dying. Melanie closed the book and went over to him, trying to keep him conscious to see the results of his first attempt at this feat. The side of John's neck was also healed, as a bonus, but he was still covered in dried old blood. He sat up slowly and looked at the Princess and his rival next to him on the floor.

"W-Where am I? What did you do?" he asked.

"I made you pay, finally," Elijah said sternly. "For all of the _shit_ you put me through, you got your just deserts. I didn't even want to bring you back but-"

"Bring me _back_?"

"I killed you," Elijah confessed. "Remember?"

John nodded and felt the side of his neck where he was stabbed, and blood gushed out. It was patched over with fresh, new skin, as if it never happened. Yet he was covered in blood still, which needed to be cleaned off. His boner also had gone down upon the first beats of his heart pumping a normal amount of blood through his veins. He looked down for a moment, and then looked at Elijah and the Princess.

"I saw horrible things," he said.

"Good," Elijah said, "exactly what I wanted."

"Elijah, hush," Melanie said. "What did you see, John?"

He recognized her and bowed his head her way, turning around to sit more comfortably as he spoke: "I think it was Hell, I was punished down there. It seemed like all eternity… how long have I been dead?"

"A week or so," Melanie replied.

"That explains it," he said gruffly. "Well… time passes differently down there… my dick split open, and locusts flew out. A badger raped me with a barbed cock…"

"Who's the faggot _now_?" Elijah teased.

"Shut up, you!" barked the newly-resurrected ward. "It _REALLY_ hurt! I drowned in _wasps_ that stung me every move I made… they turned my rectum inside out and nailed it to a wall! I gauged out my eyes to stop seeing the horrors, but they only grew back! I saw everything!"

At that moment, both Melanie and Elijah stood up when he seemed to approach them on the floor, but instead of attacking them, he broke down in tears. Elijah smiled down at him, satisfactorily because he finally exacted his revenge and made John feel the same amount of pain and more than he inflicted on him. He sobbed on the floor like a baby in distress, helpless for once in his life.

"I was only given nails to eat," he cried. "Every step I took was on broken glass…boils began to grow on my skin! I felt like my insides were being chewed on by unseen forces. My brain turned to scrambled eggs…"

He stopped for a minute, feeling a rough grip on the back of his neck pulling his head back. He felt a soft, feminine whisper in his ear; it was sharp and mystifying.

"You will never bother Elijah ever again," he heard, feeling his eyes weary and heavy; it was Melanie, and he was shocked that she had such a firm grip. "If I find out you are even _looking_ at him the wrong way, I'll _fucking_ destroy you. Do you understand?"

He nodded compliantly, a blank expression in his hazel eyes: "perfectly, Your Infernal Highness."

"It's better I destroy you than Elijah, because he will damage you beyond all repair," Melanie smirked. "Consider it a service if I get to you before _he_ does."

He sighed and looked blankly up at Elijah: "your mother… is in the Clinic."

In response, Elijah squinted at John with confusion: "why?"

"Dying." That was the only verbal response he made.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _Credit to the comedy group **WKUK** and their skit "Nail Gun" for inspiring me for the description of what John experienced while dead as punishment for his behavior. I'm glad Elijah finally got the guts to give him what he deserved and maybe they will bond after this? Who knows?_

 _Also, what about Mallory in the Clinic? Stay tuned for the next chapter! Reviews are appreciated, to be notified when I post the next chapter, Favorite and Follow this story! Thanks a bunch! _


	16. Ch 16 - Passing the Torch

**Chapter 16 – Passing the Torch**

The three made it back to the Vanderbilt suite so that John could shower the dried blood off his newly-resurrected body. He got dressed in a brown shirt and put a black, high-collar jacket over it with black pants and his rather-plain shoes. From there, they travelled to the Clinic in a hurry, using transmutation to get there faster. Once they were in the building, they ran down the initial hallway to the check-in desk, where Elijah asked about his mother.

"Where is Mallory?" he asked. "My mother."

"In the Euthanasia unit," the receptionist said.

" _What_?!" he exclaimed. "What room?!" He did not know about his mother's condition, as she kept it secret from him. The receptionist looked back at John, who smirked at her seductively and licked his lips. Melanie gave him a side glance with disgust. _That didn't change a bit_ , she thought.

"Your mother is Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt, right? She was asking if we had seen you," she said.

"Yes, I'm back. Surprise, surprise. I'm alive. Tell that old bat to stop worrying about me," John chuckled.

Elijah rolled his eyes: "which room?"

"Second floor, room 244," the receptionist directed.

"Thank you."

As they walked through the halls of the Clinic, transmuted up a floor in the stairwell, Elijah was wrought with confusion and disbelief. Why would Mallory elect to kill herself by euthanasia? Had she been terminally ill, and he didn't notice? Or perhaps she didn't tell him, out of fear he would take an emotional fit or be angry with her. They neared room 244 and the door was ajar. He opened it and stepped in, then Melanie and lastly John, the latter who saw his mother, Coco. She stood up from her chair and looked at her son in horror.

"John Vanderbilt," she said through gritted teeth. "Where the _fuck_ have you been?!"

"Doesn't matter where I've been, because I'm _here_ ," John snapped back. "Why don't you stop worrying and tell us what's going on with Elijah's mom?"

"She's very sick," Coco replied, looking at Mallory's son, who was at his mother's side. Mallory was in the bed, under the covers, attached to an IV drip. He looked up at the label and it read: FENTANYL – POTASSIUM CHLORIDE – PANCURONIUM BROMIDE – SODIUM THIOPENTAL. His heart was in his throat, struggling to get down a dry gulp as he put his hand on his mother's forehead. She weakly turned to face him, and saw the tears deluging in his eyes. It was almost like she was struggling to speak.

"Mom…" he sobbed. "W-Why are you doing this to me? Please…w-whatever I did, I'm sorry… _so sorry_ …"

"It's not you…" she trailed off. He listened to her further: "I have… had this… condition… m-metastasis, since you were four, I found out j-just a few months ago…I couldn't tell you… b-because… y-you could not fully understand…"

"Understand?" Elijah whined, "what do you mean, mom?"

"The person inside… inside me… it's always tried to… c-crawl out… b-but it's in _you_ now…" Mallory struggled to speak as the IV drip of lethal drugs was coming into her system and taking their toll.

"Mom… this is going to sound insane, but… y-you were… a Witch," he said with tearful, fierce pride. "The _Supreme Elect_ … y-you mastered all Seven Wonders… I mastered six of seven so far… I..." He paused and thought for a minute. "Am I…"

"Yes…"

"I'm… Supreme _Warlock_ , now?" He struggled to understand. "How can that be? I'm His Infernal Majesty's son…"

"You… are not in line…" There was a pause, and this statement confused Melanie. "Y-You are… _destined_ … t-to become… K-King in his place…"

"Is this because I love Melanie?" he asked, wiping his eyes and smiling, happy that she was remembering her real identity at long last. Coco looked on with confusion, feeling a revelation as Mallory spoke aloud in a nonsensical manner.

"Coco… is my sister… I remember now…"

 _Supreme Elect Mallory_. Melanie read Coco's thoughts like an open book – _oh no_ , she thought, _I hope she doesn't risk her life to overthrow my dad. I'll kill her, first. This is our destiny to rule._

The Princess watched the scene, feeling it tug on her heartstrings. If what she read about Supremes and how they inherit power was true, then this was not a bad thing that Mallory was doing for her son – it was a selfless act so that she could allow Elijah to grow and flourish in her place because she herself was in such bad shape. John went to stand right behind where his mother was sitting, who was tearful, and felt bad for his adversary for the first time in his life. He also was confused – hearing what was said, it made him wonder if Mallory was his aunt.

"She's my aunt?" he asked in a whisper to himself.

"No," Melanie answered. "She means 'sister' in a different way." The three of them watched Elijah's hand stroke his mother's face as her eyes began to close her eyes. He grew more tearful and visibly hurt by this event, seeing his mother slowly die.

"Mom? _Please_ … s-stay with me…" he whimpered. "Please… I'll only bring you back…"

"Elijah," the Princess muttered, standing behind him and putting her comforting hand on his shoulder. She looked at Mallory and could immediately tell that her life force was completely gone. Elijah's aura and presence seemed to vibrate under her palm. "She's…"

Elijah knew exactly what she meant – Mallory had died before his eyes, acknowledging her true identity as well as Coco's as her last words. He turned and cried against her abdomen, and Melanie's arms went to embrace him close to her. She felt his tears soaking up the front of her clothes, but she did not mind it one bit. In between his deep whimpers and sobs, he could almost hear something strange under her clothing, in her abdomen. He was silent for a moment just to listen, and it sounded like a mix of a light heartbeat on top of Melanie's as well as slithering. Was she carrying his child?

He looked up at her, and she looked down at him, trying to peer into his soul to find out what was wrong. However, she had trouble. It was almost like he was subconsciously blocking her without knowing it, likely from emotional distress at what just happened. He got up from the chair and looked down at her, into her blue eyes and kissed her forehead affectionately.

"I need to be alone for a bit…" He sounded despondent. "I love you…. _please_ , don't think I am leaving you, Your Infernal Highness…"

"Shhh," she hushed. "I'll be okay. As will you be. I understand."

"Are you sure, Princess?" he asked, his glacial-colored eyes on hers.

"I'm positive," she said.

He walked away and past Coco and her son; the former reached out to him tearfully, standing up and looking at him with sympathetic eyes.

"I am so sorry," she said. "Mallory was… amazing…" _You say that with ease now that she is dead, when you've treated her like a slave all these years_ , he thought spitefully.

John tried to approach him, an act of redemption from treating him so badly since they were children, to offer his condolences, but before he could step a foot toward him, he was out of the room. He bit his lower lip and shook his head, looking at his mother and the Princess sadly as he tucked his hands in his pockets.

"Let's go home," he muttered. "Let the doctor know she's gone… or whatever it is they do."

That they did – a doctor passing by was told by Melanie about Mallory's passing, and the doctor went in to cover her with the sheet she was laying under. He put a black poster on the wall with a skull – this was done in the Clinics of the three sanctuaries to signify that someone had died in the room and that the body needed to be disposed of. Disposal was usually done by direct cremation, and the ashes were usually recycled in practical ways like fertilizer for the Agricultural Center. John, Coco and Melanie walked down the hall to leave the wing, but across the way, in the Maternity ward, John could see three familiar women entering the door that separated that ward from the rest of the Clinic. He recognized the one with the fiery red hair first; it was Lydia Blackwell. Then entered two brunettes within the same age group; Alena Baxter and Kate Blackwell. His hazel eyes widened, and the last of the women glanced back at him before the door closed her into the Maternity ward.

 _I'm a father_ , he thought, knowing full well what seeing them there meant.

* * *

Elijah had brought the book of the Salem descendants with him to the Lodge that night during his time being alone, isolated away from people to cope with his loss. He opened the book to where he had found Melanie in Descensum in the same spot on the floor. This was the only power he had yet to attempt in order to fully master the Seven Wonders, all of which his mother also possessed but due to the identity spell, she could not remember that she was indeed Supreme Elect. He lit the candles with pyrokinesis all at the same time with a simple wave of his hand and laid back, remembering the incantation he read from the book:

" _Spiritu duce in me est…_

 _Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum…_

 _ut salutaret inferi…_

 _Descensum._ "

As his body remained still and lifeless on the floor, his soul out in the nether realms of existence, Michael had walked into the Lodge, his eyes widening at the sight in front of him, the young man bordered with candles on his right side with an old book open face up to the page corresponding to the magical feat he was trying to accomplish. He had recognized this somewhat, except he was not a student of Miss Robicheaux's. His long black cape nearly blew the candles out as he neared his subject. He waited for twenty-five minutes before he saw the young man gasping for air, jerking up in a seated position. His palms rested on the floor, as he yelled nonsensically – except Michael had an idea what he had experienced down there.

"Melanie! No! Come back!"

The moment he stopped talking was the moment he felt he was not alone in the room. He turned around slowly and saw none other than His Infernal Majesty, the King, standing there, looking at him.

"That was quick," he said.

Without question, he swiveled on the floor and bowed as deeply as he could for his King in deep reverence, holding the pose until Michael used his concilium to make him look upright at him. Their identical blue-green eyes met, and Michael puffed his cape back and crouched to his level, his long, cold fingers on the face of his biological son with a slight smile in his lips. Elijah was confused.

"Your Infernal Majesty," he muttered.

"You are _identical_ to me," the King answered.

"How shall I address you?" Elijah questioned. "I know _exactly_ who you are. You're my real father, but also my King. I wish not to offend you."

The King raised an eyebrow haughtily: "how did you know I was your father?"

"My mother told me everything." The young man paused. "She died earlier today." His voice got braver in the face of the very man who would kill him at the slightest talkback. "She died… knowing who she was… after _years_ of suppression for some strange reason _I_ still haven't even figured out."

"Hm…" Michael smirked.

"Metastasis… all over her thoracic organs, ever since I was four years old, Your Infernal Majesty. She suffered and did not tell me. I found out today she was taken by her friend to the Euthanasia wing of the Clinic… she's only known a few months...I watched her die… and now, I can't help but think that was the _only_ selfless act she ever did for her only son… _me._ So I could flourish in her place…" He glanced back at the book that was still open and telekinetically turned the page to the correct one that listed all Seven Wonders and criteria to become Supreme, sliding it over to him with just his mind before looking up at his King: "all Seven Wonders… I never knew I could be capable of such a thing."

Michael, watching his subtle display of his powers, widened his eyes. _I thought I wiped them all out_ , he thought, _one survived right under my nose. I had a son with this Witch. He is here, in front of me_. He moved down closer to him once again, and Elijah sat in place obediently.

"You _truly are_ my son," he said with subtle pride. "You may address me as Father, if you wish."

The King helped his biological son to his feet, locking eyes with him. Elijah was in shock – why was he being so nice to him? Did he truly mean it even though he was not around to raise him?

"Father," he began, "you have all these powers as well… plus others I cannot even _begin_ to imagine."

"Indeed. I am not like normal. You are only _half_ that," Michael answered.

"I am half-warlock, half-demon," Elijah lamented. "I realize now my main weakness this whole time has been because I never fully understood nor appreciated where I came from…but it isn't like I knew…until recently…"

"You've had help in recent times… with my _daughter_ ," he said with a smile. "You asserted your power over your adversary…"

"Wait…" Elijah's heartbeat grew only faster with fear, "you _know_ about that?"

"I know everything." He paused with a snicker. "He absolutely _tormented_ you, broke you down in all of the places that were most important, including your sense of self-worth. I'd say he _deserved_ what he got, and that he had truly learned his lesson. He will _never_ fuck with you again…"

"Why me, though? Why did he choose to harm me all those times, Father?" the young man asked.

"Because Mr. Vanderbilt is not _nearly_ as powerful as you are by _any_ stretch of the imagination. He knew this, and decided to break you down to compensate for what he didn't, or never will, have," his father explained. "My father taught me, that all people, given the right pressures and stimuli, are _evil_ motherfuckers."

This resonated with him, and Elijah nodded: "that makes sense. I guess he and I are _both_ evil, then. I brought out the evil in John enough for him to bully me because I had what he didn't have… and he brought the evil out in me enough to punish him for it."

"Precisely." Michael's face nearly lit up with pride at Elijah's quick understand of such a complex subject. His eyes fixed on the young man's dark hair in a side wave, and how it distinguished him from his own King, considering their faces were identical with chiseled features and intense, piercing eyes. Michael's own hair was long, silky, and golden, off to the side neatly as it draped over his regal black cape.

"Aside from meeting your daughter, Father," Elijah went on to confess, "killing and punishing John and bringing him back a week later after his soul was trapped in the depths of Hell was the most _satisfying_ euphoria I have ever felt." He paused, almost in tears from how he was feeling in that moment: "I never have been one to get truly _angry_ and _hostile_ … but I feel so _free_ , Father."

This was just what his King was hoping to hear: "good." There was a moment of silence before he continued to speak to him. "When you were born, as certain _others_ were, I decreed than none of you would be eligible for the throne, that it would only go to Melanie when Her Infernal Majesty the Queen and I can no longer rule or are gone." He stopped for a moment, Elijah's eyes widening in front of him. "My daughter has _choice_ in the highest degree when my crown gets put on _her_ head, including a choice of consort."

"You mean… _I_ would be in line, Father?"

" _If_ you are her choice as King," he said. "I do not approve of your incest with each other, but it seems you have already secured your position."

 _He knows_ , he thought, confirming his suspicions about what he heard underneath Melanie's tummy when he was crying on her from the loss of his mother. He heard a minor heartbeat in addition to her already-existing one, and could almost feel slithering, like a snake was growing. He sighed, not knowing what to say.

"I…" He paused and thought. "I don't know what the protocol is for royal babies but… you _know_?"

"I know everything," repeated the King.

"For how long?"

"I first noticed she was with child two days ago," he revealed. "I was shocked she wasn't eating like a bloodthirsty imp by now." He paused and looked at him sternly. "First-generation inbreeding is okay amongst our kind. If done too much over subsequent generations, things get _messy_."

"I wouldn't want my child to suffer," Elijah confirmed.

"It won't," Michael said. "Don't let them go with blood relatives…like… John Vanderbilt… Ashley Campbell… Axel or Hunter Baxter… Lydia Blackwell… Isla Fitzgerald... or _any_ of their offspring."

"Those are my other siblings?"

"Yes. Related to you, by me. I am their father as well."

"You didn't want any with Her Infernal Majesty, the Queen?" asked Elijah, as he held his hand out. "Please, don't be offended by my question. Don't answer if it is too personal."

"I was only happy having Melanie with _her_. I still am. I was with all of your mothers because I wanted to increase the population of this sanctuary. The road to hell is paved with good intentions," Michael said.

"So… we are all a _mistake_?"

"Absolutely not," Michael said defensively, taking a step toward his biological son and putting a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the vibrations radiating off him under his palm; mixed with his own aura, it was electric. "I would not be speaking with you if you _were_ a mistake, Elijah."

"Oh."

"Just learn it from me. Don't spread your seed everywhere and keep your children with other women blind to who they really are," Michael said. " _That_ was my mistake."

"But I ended up finding out," he said. "It will only be a matter of time before the others learn you are their father, as well. As for spreading my seed, I would _never_ want any other woman than Melanie. I don't even think of her as my sister. I worship the ground she walks on, I am her eternal slave even if she does choose me as King. She is the _only_ one I would submit to aside from my loyalty to you, Your Infernal Majesty."

"So _emotional_ ," Michael teased. "Such a _human_ quality. What else could I expect?"

* * *

John was still in shock over who he saw in the Clinic – yes, it didn't shock him in the sense that he had an inner knowing that his sexual exploits may have resulted in a few pregnancies in the sanctuary, but seeing Lydia, her mother Kate, and Alena all there at the same time got him worried. Double-dipping in the same family was considered highly unusual in the old world, but in Regnum Infernale, it was not really frowned upon. After all, he and Kate were not blood relatives, as it was with he and Alena. Even though he was five years old and physically seventeen, he had more sex partners than the amount of times you can count ten on both hands twice over. His lust was insatiable – he was so young, but doing the sanctuary, and his King, a great service by contributing to the population.

He was walking to Lydia's suite in his compound building, which was on the third floor. He took the elevator and went down the hall, knocking on the door to hear a familiar voice from the other side of the automated system.

"Blackwell," it said.

"It's John…" He cleared his throat. "Open up? _Please_?"

The door opened to Kate, Lydia's mother. She was merely in her late teens when she gave birth to Lydia, who was now five, the same age as he. Now, she was in her mid-twenties and a beauty even still. Her long, silky brown hair cascaded just right to frame her face, and her blue eyes looked at him. He just stared at her full lips, trying to maintain self-control.

"Ah, Kate… hello," he said.

"Where have you been? You haven't been by in a while," Kate replied.

"I've been through some shit," he answered. "I…I need to talk to both you and… Lydia. Is she here?"

"Yes. Come in."

He sat down on the sofa in the open-concept space that, like the rest of the suites in the compound, consisted of a living area, dining, and kitchen off to the corner with a hallway leading to three bedrooms maximum; most suites had only two, but this one had three. He sat like a typical guy, legs spread open, and his back slouched against the back cushion of the sofa. Kate sat next to him, caressing his face a little bit.

"I need to talk to you, too," she said.

"I saw you and Lydia in the Clinic," he told her.

"Yes. We were there today. We are pregnant," Kate disclosed.

He looked at her blankly and sighed: "with _me_?"

"You're the only person I have been with lately, as did Lydia." Kate nodded. "Yes."

Her daughter came out, signaled by the sound of his boyish yet masculine voice. Lydia's fiery locks were messed up, and she was wearing nothing but a simple gray smock dress, like she had been wearing earlier when he spotted her at the Clinic. She was barefoot, completely comfortable as she smiled at John. He smirked back; as she approached him, they held hands. The feeling of her soft fingers were enough to make him rise in his pants a little, so he adjusted himself subtly.

"John," she initiated, "I'm pregnant. Mom and I came back from the Clinic."

"I spotted you both there," John said. "I _know_ … I assume both of them are mine?"

"Yes," Lydia confirmed happily. "No details on gender yet, but…"

"I don't know how this will go. I died giving birth to _you_ ," Kate said as she looked at her daughter, "but Her Infernal Majesty brought me back." She paused, debating on whether she should say what she planned to next.

Lydia, possessing clairvoyant abilities, was triggered by the word "died" and looked at John. She sat next to him, in between with her mother on the other side of the sofa. She had a vision of him having his throat stabbed. Then it flashed to one of Elijah with a look of pure hatred in his icy blue eyes, before a memory of the Princess being in his compound with a red dress just before she left. Then a vision flashed with an old tome open to a page called ' _Vitalum Vitalis_ ' in an antiquated font. The vision led to Elijah breathing into John's stiff, open mouth and him jerking up for his first breaths of air since his slaying. She snapped out of it and told him what she saw.

"You were dead all this time," she blurted. John's eyes just widened at her and he chuckled haughtily. She just fed into it, putting him on the spot with what she had warned him with regarding Elijah. "I _told you_! I called it, Elijah was going to kill your ass, and sure enough he did, but now, you're back. He brought you back with… whatever that was."

"Yeah, yeah. You were right," he groaned, rolling his eyes.

"No wonder you went missing. I don't feel bad for your ass," she said bluntly.

"Who could blame me, though? The Princess seduced me or _something_ ," he recalled. "I could have beaten someone with what was in my pants. I was going to _explode_."

Kate fanned her face with her hand, feeling flushed. She was not sure if it was the pregnancy or the fact that John talking like that turned her on. Perhaps it was the image alone of him exploding that made her cheeks turn red? Lydia just rolled her eyes, but what she heard from her mother caught her attention.

"On second thought, I don't know if you should bring that baby in the world, Lydia."

Her daughter looked at her incredulously: "why the _hell_ not, mom?! Are you kidding?"

"I really should not be telling either of you this because I was sworn to secrecy-"

Lydia leaned her head on John's muscular shoulder as she heard him say in a cocky manner: "oh, I love secrets! Lay it on me, and I _don't_ mean your tits."

"Oh stop," Kate blushed, feeling her heart flutter. "Well… it's about your father."

Lydia and John looked at each other and seemed to think the same thing at the exact same time – _my father, your father…or_ _our_ _father?_

"I don't get it," John smirked. "What are you talking about?"

"You both have the same father…" Her eyes turned to Lydia, whose expression turned from joy at her pregnancy to disgust at this prospect. "Have you wondered where you get your _special_ gift from?"

"Fuck that. Is John really my _brother_ , mom?"

Kate stood up and looked at the both of them as they sat on the couch. For once, John felt a little intimidated, as did Lydia: "forgive me, Your Infernal Majesty…" She continued, "the King is your father. Both of you."

John smiled up at Kate, his face slowly lighting up with delight at hearing this. It all made sense now – he had a good sense of things, people and places, as well as transmutation and pyrokinesis. He also knew that the King was the son of the Devil himself, sent to Earth to turn the skies red and the rivers into blood. His mother, Coco, was human as far as he knew, but after that day in the Clinic watching Mallory die, he wondered if it was possible that she was a Witch in her former life. _Half-demon, half-human or whatever_ , he thought, _fucking sweet!_

"Are you for real? I mean, this _sight_ I've had all my life is just normal to me," Lydia said, deprecating the subject matter; her tone had a more nostalgic turn. "Then again, I cannot explain how, when I was two, I got a hold of a watermelon… watermelons don't even grow in this sanctuary. It's like, it came out of _nowhere_. I thought of it, and it came into existence." She paused. "It was so tasty."

"Get another one. I have never tried watermelon," John said encouragingly, wanting to see this weird ability put to use as he pat her thigh.

"I'll try. I only did it once."

Lydia closed her eyes and began to visualize a big, juicy watermelon. She imagined in detail the bulbous shape, the striped green skin, and upon cutting it, it would be juicy, and the pulp so dark it was red and sweet with black seeds peppering the surface. Kate gasped at the result of her daughter's attempt at manifesting a watermelon when it appeared on the dining table. She walked over to it and smiled brightly at it, feeling the cool, smooth texture of the skin.

"I missed watermelon," she said happily. John got up and went to feel the mysterious fruit he had never seen before, and both he and Kate gasped when a large carving knife materialized on the table. He held it, feeling that the blade and handle were real. Lydia opened her eyes and saw the two in awe of her talent.

"Damn! Let's eat!"

"But what about…" Lydia stopped, standing up and looking at John, "it doesn't bother you? That… we are brother and sister and I'm expecting _your_ baby?"

John laughed and looked back at her, digging the large knife into the large, globular fruit: "in the old world, we'd be hung by our toenails for something like that. Here, it may still be considered a taboo because _science_ says it's a bad idea, but… it is one of the best taboos to break, in my opinion. Let's just have that baby."

She was silent for a moment, walking over to where Kate and John were helping each other carve the watermelon she manifested: "I'm due in three months."

"Let's wait and see. If it's got a club foot or Hapsburg lip, there's always surgery to fix it," John reminded her. "Stop worrying, and come have some watermelon."

* * *

 ** _A/N:_**

 _I hope the content isn't too disturbing... then again, what do you expect when someone like Michael hides his progeny from each other and they meet and... yeah. You know._

 _Be sure to Favorite, Follow, and Review! We are getting to the end of the story, but there are still a few chapters left PLUS an epilogue, so stay tuned! Thanks to everyone who has left reviews, especially shouting out **sheshe073** and **Winchestergirl123** for your inspirations and encouragement._


	17. Ch 17 - The Last of Their Kind

**Chapter 17 – The Last of Their Kind**

Coco lamented on the loss of Mallory, nostalgia from the old world as part of Miss Robicheaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies in New Orleans coming to mind like bullets to her brain. She remembered the bizarre agreement Michael struck up with Cordelia just so he could have his bride, Misty; six months in the mortal coil, the other six down with him. He had abducted her and kept her soul in the underworld out of some twisted love for her, having lured her to her old cabin near the swamp, and built rapport by repairing the radio that had been broken some time before. When he brought Misty back from hell the first time, Coco was one of the Witches assigned to protect her and watch over her so that she could heal and prosper in her mortal form again. Coco also remembered that in May 2019, Misty returned to the coven heavily pregnant with Melanie, who, being half-demon, literally sucked the life out of her so she could be born unto the world. The coven had even tried to hide Melanie away from her father, resulting in a strange custody battle of sorts with him over her.

She also remembered the other Witches – Cordelia, the reigning Supreme with her pacifistic ways and calm demeanor. Her mother had been Supreme before her ascension, and Mallory, who recently had died from metastatic cancer in the new world, was her heiress. Zoe, a veteran Witch of the coven by the time Coco arrived, was willing to do anything for her coven, and was often teaching new Witches how to cast spells, enchantments, and even certain feats of the Seven Wonders. Queenie was also around, a sizeable African-American young woman who also had ties with Voodoo. Madison Montgomery, a former teen movie star, was also in their ranks and another one of Michael's resurrected ward from hell. She also remembered Myrtle Snow with her wild red hair extensions, eccentric fashion sense, and quick wit; she had been Cordelia's mother figure for most of her life, and without her, Coco and Mallory would have died in the blasts with the rest of them. Myrtle had been responsible for procuring two spots in Outpost 3 for the two Witches who, until just recently, had been under an identity spell.

She had seen Elijah cry over his mother when she died. That beautiful, dark-haired, half-demon boy with blue eyes was Supreme now. Coco could feel the heavy vibrations off him, and it was nothing she had ever felt before. In the old world, she possessed divination; specifically, detecting danger as well as the number of calories or presence of gluten in food. She also possessed transmutation. Both of her powers she has seen in her own son, John, except his divination was more generalized. Setting fires with his mind may have been passed down from his demon father.

 _There's no coven left_ , she thought to herself, _what is the point of calling Elijah the Supreme_ …

"Mom?" she heard, turning to see John, standing shirtless at her bedroom door. She sighed, wiping the tears that had begun to form in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," she said morosely.

His hazel eyes, reminiscent of his mother's color, seemed to sparkle gold in the dim light as he approached her. She took a deep breath, looking up at him and noticing the strange feature. Given what he was, it didn't shock her too much. He looked at the candles sitting on her dresser, and concentrated, igniting the wicks with his mind to brighten the room before he sat next to his mother.

"You get that from your father," she said.

"Rumor has it," he began, "the _King_ is my dad."

"He is."

"Why didn't you tell me, mom?" he asked crudely. "You know, it's a _fucking honor_ to be a Prince, basically."

"I hate to tell you, but you're not in line. He said that to our faces the night you were conceived," Coco said. John laughed a little at what she referred to and made a point to mention it.

"Your… _faces_? Was there some orgy or something?"

Coco breathed heavily and rolled her eyes: "yes, there was."

John bit his lower lip, looking at his mother: "did you like it?"

" _John_!" she exclaimed, wanting to slap her son; in the old world, this sort of behavior from a man toward his mother would never be acceptable. "You should _not_ be asking your _mother_ , of _all_ people, questions like that! Are you _okay_?"

"Far from it," he said, referring to his resurrection, "I'm only curious. Not like I want to _fuck_ you, you old bat. Now, answer my question."

She was incensed, but gave in, answering him truthfully: "yes… I did. A lot. Maybe a little too much…"

John nodded and smiled: "if my father, His Infernal Majesty the King, is a horny, freaky bastard like me, then I can _definitely_ believe he is my dad. Where else would I get it from?"

Coco was just reminded to ask him about where he had been that whole week – he went missing without a trace. She had asked when in the Clinic, but he skipped answering so he could focus on the matter at hand with her, Elijah and Melanie.

"Is that what you were doing this whole week when you disappeared?"

"No," he said. "I _almost_ got some royal pussycat but before I knew it, I was killed."

"WHAT?!"

"Take it easy, mom. I'm alive," he said, jumping and standing, pointing to the side of his neck. "See? Not a mark on me! Whatever that kid ended up doing, healed where he stabbed me. Right here… side of my throat."

"Who?"

"Guess."

Coco shook her head and rolled her eyes, looking up at her son knowing full well he was referring to the boy he bullied for years: "Elijah?"

"Bingo."

"You don't learn, do you?" his mother scoffed.

"I know _not_ to fuck with him ever again," her son said, "because when he killed me, my vision was fuzzy, I remember him saying something to me with that _vicious_ look in his eyes, and _yes,_ he looked FUCKING SCARY. Then it went black and I was seeing _horrible_ things I'd rather not relive." He paused. "Needless to say, I learned my lesson. That kid may become King one day because he's with Melanie, so I better stay in his good graces."

"I don't feel sorry for you," Coco said, rising to her feet and looking up into her son's eyes. "You brought that on yourself. You treated that boy _horribly_ , and you paid the price."

"I know I did," John snapped, his hazel eyes reflecting fire off their surface. "I just… I realize now, that there was something about him that _always_ bothered me. I think he had something I could never have… and sure enough, I realize it's true. He could destroy me _so_ easily… with a flick of the wrist or a snap of his fingers, I could be dust."

 _He's our Supreme_ , Coco thought to herself reverently, _even if he wasn't king of this castle, he'd be King of the Witches that are left in this godforsaken world. Just… me and Misty, our Queen_.

* * *

She made a point to catch the Queen when she was busy tending to the fruit-bearing plants and trees in the sanctuary. In a world of death and destruction, Misty always held true to her affinity for life and growth, her gardens being her pride and joy and one of the main food sources for their people. Excess crop from harvests were sent to other sanctuaries for use, and it only made whatever food supplies the Cooperative had last longer because of the amount harvested. A few Cooperative laborers were assisting with the workload, while Misty stuck out like a sore thumb with her loose, golden ponytail, and pale-yellow floral tank dress with a lace-up corset detail on the front. Misty was also not one to wear flashy makeup, save for some black eyeliner and the occasional smokey eyeshadow. She was barefoot, as she was most of the time when gardening – in fact, she did not look like a Queen at all.

She was walking through some overgrown bushes that were sitting between apple trees when she saw her using a sickle to cut sorghum, a relatively new crop for the sanctuary to make bread, oatmeal and flour. Coco made sure to smile in the event Misty spotted her, and she did. Her subject watched in awe at how much sorghum she was carrying in her arms by the stalk, and the sickle in the other. Misty, who was near or past the age of forty by this point, still had bright blue eyes, but Coco could sense the sadness behind them even though she smiled. The older blonde bowed to the Queen, who just chuckled and said quietly.

"You don't needa bow to me, because I know who you are." Misty's soft Southern accent was somewhat faded by this point, but it was still noticeable with certain words.

"I just realized what and who I am…" Coco trailed off, rising back to her feet. "But you're Queen."

Misty put the sorghum stalks in the big container used to collect harvested crops. She hung the sickle from her thin leather belt and approached Coco, fixing a stray blonde curl that fell from her ponytail. Her hands, fingers adorned with rings and traces of artificial soil, went to hold hers before she gave Coco a hug. The older blonde returned it and held her tightly. Misty could just sense how she was feeling, especially since she too got word about Mallory's passing.

"I'm sorry 'bout Mallory. She was a good… _witch_ ," she said, the last word a whisper.

"She was my best friend… before _all_ of this," Coco said, almost tearing up. "She was just… so full of life and talent… I-I never got to apologize for the _horrible_ stuff that's come out of my mouth since _everything..._ "

"Hey now," Misty said, letting her go, but keeping her hands on her fellow Witch's shoulders. She looked into her hazel eyes and smiled: "she is in a much better place now. Trust me." Her voice became quieter. "I _envy_ the girl."

Coco's eyes widened – how could the Queen envy the death of one of her subjects? Wasn't it something she loved assuming the role of? She simply was speechless: "what?"

Misty paused for a minute and looked at her: "later tonight, do you wanna have tea and biscuits with me? _Away_ from Michael."

"Hell yes," she accepted. "We have catching up to do."

"Eight?"

"Sounds good."

* * *

Melanie was sitting on the examination table in one of the examination rooms in the Clinic; instructed by her father. He knew she was with child, and she believed him. Due to Elijah being her biological brother, it was even more of a reason to have the life inside of her checked out. She had a hospital gown on and ruffled her golden curls until the door opened to a female doctor.

"Your Infernal Highness," she greeted with a bow as she closed the door for privacy. "It's to my understanding you feel you may be pregnant, correct?"

"My father, the King, seems to think so. He's right about everything," Melanie answered, "but the real reason I complied with his request… is because I know that the biological father is indeed my brother."

The doctor's eyes widened – being a product of the old world, incest was an egregious taboo. She knew that in history, cousins married cousins if part of the nobility, but brother and sister relations were never acceptable. Perhaps in Ancient Egypt, but not in her own era, before the apocalypse. She wondered if the Princess knew the risks of inbreeding with close family members, or if the act leading to this pregnancy was consensual, so she inquired to her patient about it.

"Your Infernal Highness," she began, "may I ask you a few questions about your… _relations_?"

"Go ahead."

"Firstly, were you aware at first that he was your sibling?"

"No," Melanie answered, "until my father, the King, had suspicions and looked him up in the Cooperative databases."

"Was this… _event_ , consensual? Did he force himself on you?" The doctor, knowing full well this was a disturbingly common antecedent for children of incest in the old world, was hoping the answer was yes. Melanie, seeing through this, answered curtly.

"Yes, it was consensual," she said. "I know you're judging me right now. This is _not_ the old world, and Elijah and I are only _half_ human. What could the risks possibly be?"

The doctor began to list possible consequences of inbreeding to the Princess, who seemed a little ignorant to what could result of her and her brother having a child: "being only half of something doesn't make a difference. Incest has caused a lot of problems in the old world and is yet to be observed in the new world with these new… uh, _species_ of individuals. It has been linked to such problems as mental retardation, developmental issues, physical deformities, psychosis and other mental illness, and either spontaneous abortion or stillbirth."

 _That all sounds awful_ , Melanie thought. Sighing, she looked down at her abdomen, feeling a familiar slithering inside it. She was not showing just yet, but she could still feel the little heartbeat and the weird snakelike movements in her womb. She looked at the doctor and gave her an order.

"Doctor, just check it out. Can't you closely monitor it?" she asked.

"We could, yes," she said. "Lay back and lift up the gown, please."

She did as requested and felt the cold, sterile sensation of the stethoscope against her lower abdomen. She watched the expression on her face turn from calm and inquisitive, to one of horror and fear. The doctor could feel her skin crawling as she not only heard a heartbeat, but felt strange slithering motions inside her, like it was a worm she was pregnant with, not an infant.

"I can't believe it," she muttered.

"What is it?"

"It's like a… a _snake_ ," the doctor said, looking at the Princess. "I've never seen this before…"

"Have you had any other cases in the Clinic, though?"

"Yes. Another woman of about your age came in with the same kind of fetus, but another doctor tended to her," the doctor disclosed. "She was set to be due in about three months. Human gestations that survive are between eight and ten months. We have had a few within the past five years where the gestations were only slightly more than yours at five or six months."

"Really?"

"Yes." The doctor shook her head. "We will need to closely monitor this child, if you intend to _keep_ it and carry it to term."

"Of _course,_ I do!" Melanie exclaimed, sitting up. "Thank you for your time."

* * *

Misty and Coco met that night, as agreed upon, near the body of water in which the waterfall in the sanctuary emptied into. The grasses were slightly taller due to her efforts to make the sanctuary look more like a nature preserve, reminiscent of the old world and its bounties. She had still been dressed in the same clothing as earlier, but Coco changed into something more presentable. They set up for a picnic of sorts, with a blanket laid out for them to sit on, and the tea was preheated from the royal suite in a special thermos. Only a lantern illuminated them, and when the tea was poured, Misty took her cup and raised it.

"To sisterhood," she whispered. The two spoke in a hushed tone for the remainder of the evening. Coco tapped her teacup against that of her Queen and smiled nostalgically.

"To sisterhood, Your Infernal Majesty," she said before taking a sip.

"No need for the formal stuff," Misty said in a relaxed manner. "You _know_ me."

"I know… it's just… so odd," Coco said, "calling you by your first name after…everything."

"Truth be told," Misty said, taking a bite of a biscuit and washing it down with a sip of warm tea, "I never _felt_ like a Queen."

"What do you mean? Doesn't His Infernal Majesty, the King, treat you like one?"

"I meant to say I don't feel like Queen, as in, _rulin'_ people," Misty corrected. "Michael's got _all_ the power, in that department. I feel it's just best I stick to my roots…" She put her hand over the blades of grass, feeling how cool they were in the temperate climate of the sanctuary. "I was able to do what I could to this… _place_ , and I did. It ain't quite my swamp, but it is my _comfort_."

Coco knew that Misty was hiding a sadness she could not openly express. Taking a sip of her tea and having a biscuit, she decided to bring it out from her and establish a sense comfort, so she could do so easily: "how did you feel when you had the crown put on your head?"

Misty sighed: "it was something I had to get used to, like everythin' else…" She paused. "I thought I was becomin' Queen of some devil cult… but now, I realize, I don't do much at all except keep our people fed."

"You do a _lot_ , Misty," Coco said emphatically. "Without you, we'd be eating that gel-block shit they served us in the outpost. It's good to have a nice piece of fruit every day, and _fresh produce_ at that." She continued. "Before coming here, that bitch Venable who ran the outpost nearly killed us with poisoned apples. Your daughter, sweet Princess, saved us all. She saved _me_. Brought me back. My boyfriend came into the outpost somehow, killed me, and she resurrected me. She was… five? Six?"

Misty smiled, recalling that night. She had met Melanie for the very first time: "I love my daughter more than anythin'…" She sipped her tea and took another biscuit. "When she rises to that throne, she's gonna make an amazin' Queen. Better than I. She's… better suited for the position, let alone this world, than I am."

Coco just looked at her sister Witch and felt everything right then and there. Misty was far from happy, even though she had everything. After all, she recalled the bizarre union she had with Michael, as he took her to the underworld, married her, and had her down there for half the year. Shortly after, he started the apocalypse to wipe out the rest of their kind, but also most of the world's population all because they burned Miriam Mead and two traitorous warlocks at stake; that aside from the prophecy of the Antichrist coming to earth and starting the apocalypse anyways. She even remembered showing her loyalty to Cordelia and the coven by tracking Miriam Mead down and risking her life in the process. She thought of Mallory for a moment, and brought up what she witnessed in Elijah.

"Do you know an Elijah Cross?" Coco asked.

Misty nodded: "yeah… Melanie likes him a lot."

"He's _more_ than fit to be King," she said, "when Mallory passed away in front of us, I felt this crazy vibration off his body. Something like Cordelia used to have, but also the kind the King has."

The Queen sighed, a blank expression: "that is her brother. Neither Michael and I approve of that, but… when she is Queen, she can choose. Some people married their cousins when I was a kid, but… it was _never_ brother and sister."

"Wait…" Coco said with disgust: "the Princess is in love with her brother?"

"Seems so," Misty said, her stomach turning as she put the biscuit down.

"If this was the old world, they'd be all over the freaking news! That's disgusting!" Coco exclaimed in a hushed tone. "My own son, John, is in some similar situation. He got one of his half-sisters pregnant, _and_ her mother. Lydia is the girl's name. She's very pretty but… that is his _half-sister_. The baby's going to come out with six fingers and toes and a harelip."

"Oh, dear Lord," Misty grimaced. "The mother ain't blood to him, but still, it's weird."

"I probably am a grandma with how much poon my son gets," Coco said, biting into a biscuit. "That's _all_ he does. How the hell does he not get any diseases? I always ask myself."

"Michael says there's no such thing anymore," Misty said.

"STDs?"

"Yeah, whatever they are."

"That explains it."

"I'm gonna be a granny soon," Misty said.

Coco's jaw dropped and her eyes widened, nearly spilling her tea: " _what?!_ With… her brother?"

Misty nodded with a sad smile: "I just hope it don't come out messed up. Michael had her go to the doctor to get it checked on. She told me that they'll monitor it closely."

Coco felt like she was getting nowhere in prying out Misty's real feelings about being Queen of Regnum Infernale. It seemed like every topic took its own turn, so she took the bull by the horns and asked her outright, easing her way in.

"Misty?"

She stuffed her face with a biscuit and nodded: "hm?"

"I need to ask you something. It's direct but…" Coco took a breath, "how do you feel being Queen? Do you enjoy it? Be honest."

Misty was pinned – the sadness really started to show in her face. She mustered the courage to voice her true opinion by taking in a huge gulp of tea, finishing her cup as she began.

"I hate it," she said. "I hate it. I hate Michael." This was when she started to form tears in her eyes, Coco reaching over to pat her sister Witch's shoulder. "Yes, there was a time I _did_ love him back, but when he… he… conceived these other babies… with other women? That there, was my breakin' point. I realized I had nothin' here… maybe except Melanie and…" She looked around, sniffling, "my life's work. H-He also took away my sisters…it took me forever to find my tribe, and when I did…. I was so _grateful_. He took away my swamp… Stevie… I can never see her again 'cause of what he did!"

Misty cried softly, and Coco moved closer on the picnic blanket to comfort her. Coco also had tears in her eyes, knowing the exact same pain. She had been under an identity spell, but remembering everything as it was prior to its effects manifesting, was pure pain. She longed for a world that no longer existed, and the sisterhood she once had. Literally, all this sanctuary was, was a world in a bubble, a cheap imitation of what once was.

"I have even… thought of offin' myself," Misty confessed, breaking Coco's heart. "But I could never do that to Melanie… she'd be devastated… Michael'd only bring me back if I didn't do it first." She paused. "Then again… she lived the first two years of life without me… I wonder if I went, if it'd be any different."

"Please don't," Coco said tearfully, her heart tearing in half even more. "We are the last of our kind… well, _pure_ members of our kind… you _can't_. I'll be here for you, always… not just because you are Queen but because you are my sister. I know I was not the most pleasant back then, but… I care about you. We need to _survive_."

As the two shared their tearful, reuniting moments, Melanie was watching from afar, keeping quiet and hiding behind the trunk of one of the fruit trees. She had been there from the point where they set up their picnic by the body of water, hearing them bond over their sentiments on incest being gross and an unspeakable taboo; to know their children were expecting children of their own with blood relatives. That part hurt her to hear that, but it disturbed her even more to know the truth about how her mother felt about being Queen and being married to Michael. She had suspected that the two fizzled out after what happened, but not to the extent at which she heard her speak about. She knew her father tried his best to make Misty feel happy and fulfilled, and she knew he did love her in his own way; gifts, fine food, even allowing her to shape the sanctuary's "outdoors" into the _real_ outdoors from the old world. It was enough to bring the young woman to tears; while she was perfectly content as Princess, destined to be Queen, she was not happy because her mother had been deprived of everything she ever loved and held dear. That was a pain she never could experience for herself because she had been too privileged for something like that to happen.


	18. Ch 18 - Rivers of Blood

**WARNING:** _Adult content; discretion is advised._

* * *

 **Chapter 18: Rivers of Blood**

Melanie could not hear anymore from her mother and Coco – she walked away, eventually using transmutation to head toward the compound in which she knew Elijah was. Upon entering, she gasped and saw him standing there. His eyes pierced her with shock and happiness, and a slight smile appeared in his lips. His dark hair was neatly combed, and he was dressed in a plain black t-shirt with jeans. Her eyes, still stained clear with tears, sparked his worry and he approached her, cupping her face in his hands.

"My Princess," he said remorsefully. "I'm _so_ sorry if you feel like I left you. What's the matter?"

Melanie sighed: "it's… sort of long. Were you heading somewhere?"

"Just to find _you_ ," he said with a warm smile.

He took his hands off her face and held her hand, kissing it before leading her into the compound. They made their way into the suite he now lived by his lonesome in. Upon entering, he closed the door and took he in his arms, kissing her lips fervently as his arms snaked around her slender waist. Melanie's heartbeat raced, and she moaned as her fingertips grazed his cheeks. He broke the kiss, his piercing blue-gray eyes smoldering as his lids drooped halfway. Melanie felt her body heating with desire, gazing back at him.

"I've been so selfish," he said, kissing her cheek. "Please, let me make it up to you."

"You were mourning your mother," Melanie responded. "You cope by isolating yourself. Not the _healthiest_ thing, but…"

"You're a balm for my soul," he said, his voice dancing with emotion.

"Before we… do anything," Melanie said in between breaths, "I need to tell you I'm…"

"With child." They said it exactly the same time. Stunned, Melanie's eyes widened, her eyebrows raised as she saw Elijah's perfect smile overtake his visage.

"If you don't want to…" he said, considerate and respectful of her condition; but she stopped him.

"I _want_ to," Melanie said. "But let me ask you one thing."

"Anything, my Princess," he agreed.

"Well," she began, "are you sure you want to still be with me? Even though we are technically half-siblings? Even though I'm older than you?"

His eyes grew wide, and his pupils only got bigger as he pulled her close to him. His grip on her was tight and secure, providing a clear answer before he could speak: "I do not consider you my sister. We were not raised under the same roof. If you were, I would _not_ consider it okay to be with you. Your age does not matter to me… I am still your eternal slave when you physically start to age more than I am at a given time. That will never change."

"What if I asked you to be the King at my side, Elijah," Melanie brought up. "Would you consider that?"

"I'd _do_ anything for you… but I do not think I'd make a good King," he said earnestly, caressing her soft blonde curls that framed her diamond-shaped face. "I would _try_ … but I wouldn't know how to _rule_." He smiled a closed grin. "I'd much rather be the devotee at your feet… a King is devoted to his people, whereas a devotee is only devoted to the one he worships and adores above anyone else. To me, that is a more _profound_ and _fulfilling_ position."

Melanie smiled slightly: "you can do that same thing as King."

He got on his knees submissively and held her hand to his cheek, kissing her wrist and palm: "it is so much better this way… this view I have of you from down on my knees is the best of all."

So, the Princess got to her knees, making his eyes widen in surprise. She leaned in and caressed his face with the same hand he was holding, staring deeply into his piercing blue eyes: "and the view I have right now of you on the same level as me? Priceless."

Her fingertips grazed his chiseled jawline and his lips, which became flushed as he leaned in to kiss Melanie, fire on his lips as he collapsed into her, right there on the floor. His arms snaked tightly around her, feeling her heart beating under her chest as his breathing accelerated. He moaned softly, caressing her curls as they made out. Elijah smiled lovingly, breaking the kiss and standing up, helping Melanie to her feet and leading her to his bed. It was just large enough to fit two people. Knowing full well he liked for the woman to be in charge, she had him sit down, and he promptly removed his shirt. Melanie got on her knees and looked up at him. His skin crawled with excitement as her fingertips gently caressed his chest and abdomen, leading down to the sizeable tent in the crotch of his pants. Melanie still could not believe how big he was down there, and she teased him by massaging her palm over the length beneath the fabric.

"Ugh…" he growled under his breath, gripping the top sheet as she tormented him sweetly. Melanie giggled up at him before undoing his pants, taking them off along with his boxers. His member stood at full attention, hot and throbbing with a few drops of precum coming out of the tip. His desire for her was realer than real, and she stroked him to evoke more of a reaction from him. Yet she wanted so much more; so, she ran her tongue over the tip, tasting that he was surprisingly sweet.

"Yes!" he exclaimed.

She was shocked at how sensitive he was, so she did it again, this time running her tongue all over the tip of his length before wrapping her glossy lips around it. He wanted to scream; Elijah had never done this with a woman before, and he was loving every minute to the fullest. He gripped the sheets and whimpered, looking down at her as she had his length in her mouth. She made eye contact a few times, which made his heart melt. As she took him deeper, he growled like a tomcat in heat as he felt a climax-like feeling welling up in his balls.

"I can't… oh god… I'm going…"

That was when she stopped, leaving just a flat lick to the tip. He sighed and whimpered, caressing her face and looking down into her eyes.

"Why'd you stop? I _love_ that," he moaned.

"I don't want you to cum yet," she replied.

He shook his head and moaned, letting her go on top of him as he laid back. She removed her blouse and skirt, leaning down to kiss him as his hands trailed all over her body. On her back was the hook for the bra she was wearing, which he swiftly removed, attacking her breasts with fervent kisses and nibbles. Melanie squealed at the sudden movement, and Elijah made eye contact up at her as she moaned at his suckling. He slid his hands under the band of her panties, just above her butt and grabbed both cheeks. She gasped, and he snuck a kiss, darting his tongue in her mouth and moaning.

She reached down and moved the center of her panties aside, lowering down to rub her wet, slick folds against his shaft. He groaned and gripped the sheets, feeling her heat even though he was not inside her yet. Melanie giggled sweetly as she teased him, driving him insane with anticipation. He held her hips, pleading for her with only body language to lower herself on top of him.

"Please… please…"

"Please _what_?"

"I need you…" Elijah yearned, his throbbing member getting hotter by the second.

Granting his wish, she slid down on him slowly, making him yelp as he held her hips. He arched his back and tossed his head back on the bed, his dark hair becoming a mess as his forehead was lightly beaded in sweat. Melanie looked down at him and put his hands on her hips and he happily obliged.

"You earned it," she whispered, "enjoy me to your heart's content."

 _You're not a piece of meat_ , he thought as she read every word, _you're a person…_ _my_ _person_. This made her blush as she felt him thrusting up into her slowly at first, but building up momentum, making her toes curl and back arch as she moaned in ecstasy. Her breathing was music to his ears as he continued to thrust, more powerfully by the minute, stretching her out even more than she had been by him. He had been thrusting so much that she climaxed once before he started to slow down. She was actually quite impressed that for someone not sexually experienced, he had this much endurance. He just kept thrusting up into her, giving her orgasm after orgasm, until he felt like he was on the verge of his own.

"Oh please, Princess… may I?"

"You're asking permission to cum?"

"Yes…" His breathing was labored, and he kept thrusting. "Please… I can't take it anymore…"

She nodded, looking down at him and watching him groan loudly as he shot his load inside her. His heart rate decreased as he grew limp, and she got off him and laid beside him. He was still trying to gather his bearings when she began to caress his face and move any strands of brown hair away from it. Once he regained himself, they got under the sheets and snuggled closely.

"I love you so much…" he uttered.

"Ditto," she answered.

"I would die for you, but I would much rather kill for you," he revealed. "So that the world _knows_ not to harm you in any way."

"That there," Melanie said, "tells me you _are_ fit to be a King… aside from your abilities."

"Does His Infernal Majesty the King ever do that for the Queen?" he inquired.

This reminded her of earlier, spying on Misty and Coco as they indulged in a picnic by the body of water the waterfall in the sanctuary emptied into. Hearing the truth about how her mother felt being Queen and Michael's wife shocked her to the bone, yet she did suspect that they had fizzled out when he decided to have offspring with other women. She did not think it was to the extent that it was; to actually _hating_ him. She shook her head in response.

"No…"

"Really?" Elijah asked. "Doesn't he love her?"

"In his own way, yes. Their dynamic is strange, to be honest," Melanie said. "My father clearly holds more absolute power than my mother. My mother seems more like the kindly peasant woman who will give you a share of her crops if you were in need. Yet she plays such an integral role in this kingdom. Without her, we would all starve or at best, only rely on Cooperative rations." She paused. "It seems all my father does is bask in the glory of his people whenever there is a celebration, or when an execution takes place, or when he has Cooperative meetings… it isn't like there are many people in this world, compared to before, in the _old world_. It also isn't like my father was given an instruction manual."

"How many people were there in the old world?" Elijah asked.

"Oh… maybe…" She thought for a minute. " _Seven_ billion? I could be wrong."

"Wow…" His voice was full of amazement, smiling down at her curiously. "What do you remember about the old world, Princess? You've peaked my curiosity."

"I only remember so much. I was a baby. Most of what I _do_ know about the old world is from what I've read, and what people have told me," Melanie said. "People in the old world were more _separated_ , by more things than just distance, as all seven billion lived across the world, not in just three sanctuaries. They were separated by such things as race, sex, sexual orientation, religion, marital status, level of wealth, nationality; yet, they were all _human_ , still. The powers that be used those labels, and reinforced their people to use them, just to separate them. A lot of people were too comfortable in _just being_ inside these boxes, and others who challenged them also challenged the status quo – in some places you would be killed for doing that. Other places were more tolerant of free speech and thought. Oftentimes, the road to hell was paved with good intentions, because those who fought the system only ended up separating themselves more, and thus perpetuating these same problems."

"That sounds really complicated," he said, looking at her and touching her curls. "It makes me glad to live in a simpler world."

"It was a very harsh, unequal world back then," she added. "Makes me glad, as well."

"Well, you _are_ a Princess," Elijah chuckled.

"I am, but… that isn't _all_ I am defined by," she coaxed. "I may be in line for the only throne in the world, but I am so much more than my title."

Elijah tilted Melanie's diamond-shaped chin up to meet his gaze, and his serenity made her feel at ease. He sighed and began speaking to her.

"You are a beautiful, strong, intelligent, and capable creature," he said reverently. "Also, you are my Princess." He planted a kiss on her forehead and smiled, holding her close to him. " _That_ will never change… and if anyone dares lay a hand on you, you won't need your father, His Infernal Majesty, to take care of them for you, because it will be me that does away with them."

"Thank you," she sighed, sitting up under the sheets off the side of the bed. Elijah caressed along the length of her spine and kissed her shoulder.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

She looked back at him and nodded slightly: "I should go."

Elijah bit his lower lip and sighed through his nostrils, watching the Princess get dressed. "I didn't offend you, did I?

"No, no," she said, looking back at him. "You did nothing wrong." She put on her blouse, skirt, and panties before putting her shoes on. "I promise."

"Your father, the King, must be wondering where you are," Elijah pondered, laying back on the bed as he watched Melanie make her way over to him. She sat beside him, and he looked up at her in awe. He felt her kiss him on the forehead, and he smiled contently as she held his hand, entwining her fingers with his.

"I'll see you soon," the Princess told him.

"I love you," he uttered, kissing her hand softly.

"I love you, too."

As she left the room and his suite, he could smell her scent still lingering in the air, like that of honeysuckles and honey. The aroma even lingered in the sheets that now covered him; he sat up and took the sheets to his nose and inhaled deeply. In his own way, this was a devotional act of reverence for his Princess, one day his Queen. The euphoria was enough to send him to sleep instantaneously.

* * *

When Melanie stepped into her family's suite, the first person she saw was Miriam, standing up straight and staring right at her. Her bright blue eyes were full of confusion, approaching her android grandma slowly. Miriam's dark eyes just stared off into space at closer examination, and it provoked her curiosity.

"Grandma? Are you alright?"

"Oh yes. I am making sure you arrived home safely," she answered. Melanie nodded, but was caught off guard by what she said next. "What is that blood on your leg, though? Did someone hurt you?"

" _No_ ," Melanie said. "What do you mean?"

"You have blood running down your leg, Melanie," Miriam pointed out. "Look."

Lifting her skirt for a better view, she was alarmed to see red fluid slowly dripping down the inside of her leg. She was not very sure how long it was dripping, but by the fact it was past her knee, it probably wasn't that long since it started. She started to panic silently, running to the bathroom and seeing where it was from. Miriam stood outside the door, looking in. The young woman got something to wipe it up with, but it just kept oozing out from what she discovered was the area between her legs. The doctor's word on what could happen with incest babies resonated through her mind: " _spontaneous abortion_ ". It could not have been that they had just had sex, was it?

"I… lost it," she said sadly.

"Lost what?" Miriam asked.

"My child."

Being an android, thus a mere shell of what she once was, she was unable to sympathize with her plight at that moment. Melanie was not quite upset, but disappointed; the child growing in her womb, destined to be King or Queen one day after she, was gone. She sighed and got out of her clothing, cleaning herself up as best as she could. She looked to Miriam, who paid attention to her.

"Could I please have some new undergarments and my pajamas?" she inquired.

"Yes. Do you need help with a bath?" Miriam suggested.

"I can take care of that," Melanie said, telekinetically turning on the bath tub so that lukewarm water was dispensed from the faucet. She pinned her hair up and away from her face before stepping into the bath. She noticed that she kept bleeding, turning the water redder by the minute. She took one of the bars of soap from the soap tray and rubbed her body with it until suds formed. She tried to kneel in the bathtub to help wash her nether regions a little better, but she just kept on bleeding. She sighed, shaking her head and worrying. _I hope this doesn't happen if Elijah and I get pregnant again_ , she thought.

She took a relatively long soak in the bath, even after the profuse bleeding from her miscarriage had ceased. When she got out, she dried off with a towel, wrapping it around her as she undid her hair. Her golden curls were loose around her shoulders as she walked to her bedroom, where Miriam was sitting down. A pair of white pajamas were out for her along with new underwear, in which she swiftly changed into. She looked at Miriam, who had stood up and pulled down her bed for her to get into. _Okay, this is weird, she hasn't done this for me since I was a kid_ , she thought.

"Sleep well," she said to Melanie with a kiss to her forehead. She promptly went to sleep, trying to get the overall strange feeling out of her system as she drifted off.

* * *

Misty had been sitting on the sofa just after Melanie was ushered to bed by Miriam, who was now standing at the doorway that led directly to the master bedroom. She looked into the fireplace and sighed, thinking about her raw confession to Coco, her former sister witch from before the apocalypse. She did not regret spilling her guts of what she had been hiding for so long from her own husband, and even daughter. She _hated_ Michael for what he had done to the world she once loved. She hated him for taking away her true family, yet he had only done half the job when he abducted her, brought her to the underworld, married her, and bound her to him by making her consume seeds and wine tainted with his blood. She did love him once, but now, this was madness beyond her imagination. She dreaded the thought of her daughter being raised in such a chaotic new world, and she remembered the shock and horror she felt when she witnessed Michael and Melanie feasting on the hearts of Timothy and Emily Campbell at their execution. Misty was also still not over the fact that he went and had an orgy with several women, producing children for the sanctuary, with one of them being Melanie's lover. The only reason she remained at her duties as Queen was for her daughter, and one of her favorite things was gardening and planting in the makeshift nature reserve. That aside, this new world was not for her.

"Are you coming to bed?" She heard Michael ask this as he came into the open concept to the living area, moving past Miriam. Misty looked over at him and sighed, shaking her head.

"No."

He approached his wife slowly, walking to be right behind her. Misty gave off a guarded air, and he could sense it; he was determined to get her to loosen up, anyway he could. He gently took the lengths of her blonde curls and pulled them back gently as if to form a ponytail. He could smell her signature earthy patchouli scent as he lowered his head to speak.

"Are you alright, my love?" he questioned in a seductive whisper.

There was no answer, but she shrugged his grasp off her – Michael was beginning to grow frustrated.

"What is wrong?" he asked, transmuting to the front of the sofa and sitting beside her, forcefully tilting her head over to her side to face him. She felt her heart racing like never before, a mixture of trepidation and repressed anger. He could clearly sense this on her, so he spoke as he softened his touch: "you are afraid… after _all this time_? Still? Please… if there is anything I can do for you or get for you… I will make it happen."

"Nothin' you can't bring back for me," his wife said softly with sadness, taking his hand off her face. "You've taken everythin' I held dear away from me…"

"I have given you everything, Misty," Michael said, feeling rather hurt with anger growing within at what she was telling him. "Riches, luxuries only a _Queen_ would deserve. I cannot believe what I am hearing."

Misty stood up and looked down at him, brave enough to finally spill her guts, raw and unfiltered: "well, BELIEVE IT!" She began to grow tearful, and she could see the shock on Michael's face. "I had everythin' before you _took_ it all from me! I had my swamp, Stevie, Miss Cordelia… the coven… my own _true_ family and you _took_ them from me! I finally found my tribe, but they're all GONE! Can't you see that?" She sobbed a little bit. "I loved you once before… but… I HATE YOU! _I hate you_ for what you've done! The world was a dark and evil place _before_ , and it is _now_. Nothin's changed!"

Nothing could compare to the feeling of hatred and betrayal he suddenly felt toward the woman he chose as his Queen, appropriately Melanie's mother. He had loved her, albeit in a twisted way, and given her everything to keep her sane in Regnum Infernale, knowing full well she was not one-hundred percent happy or used to the way things became. He was tempted to unveil his true form, an emaciated man with black eyes and gray skin, but he kept eerily calm, looking at her with daggers in his stare.

"You should'a kept me in the underworld, or _killed_ me in the blasts…" Misty cried. "Save me the grief… I-I'm only here for Melanie… otherwise I'd never have let that crown be put on my head." She paused, knowing full well Michael rose to his feet and slowly approached her. "Melanie has it in her to be a Queen… not me… not _anymore_ …"

As his feet moved slowly toward a fearless Misty, he decided how she should be punished for her betrayal to not only him, but the kingdom. Should he burn her and destroy her soul from existence? Should he stab her, cutting her heart out so he could indulge in a snack? Should he telekinetically make her head explode, or close her airways to the point of suffocation? What about taking her to the torture chamber and inflicting excruciating pain on her? Should he order Miriam to take off the outer coating of her arm and reveal the machine gun she hid within, shooting her full of lead? Even further, what if it were to wake Melanie? _Let it be an example to her if she tries to go against me_ , he thought as he put his hand at the base of her neck, his thumb and index finger just barely grazing her skin.

"I was _so_ wrong about you," he said, capturing Misty's attention. "You are far from my balance."

 _Ka-SHING!_

Misty groaned in agony as she felt a nine-inch blade penetrating the area just beneath her rib cage, and Michael was in full view of her to watch the life leave her eyes. She groaned and fell to the floor, Michael taking the blade out of where he stabbed her slowly. He proceeded to lick the blade of her blood slowly as she made her last gasps for air on the floor. It was then that he heard a door opening, light footsteps coming down along with a scream of pure, visceral horror – he turned to see it was Melanie, seeing her mother dead on the floor with the bloody knife in Michael's hand, his tongue cleaning the blade.

"AHHHH!" she screeched. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? ARE YOU _INSANE_?!"

She tried to run over to where Misty laid dead on the floor but before she could, she was kept in place by her father's mind control. All she could do was move her eyes to look at him as he approached her rancorously.

"Let this be an _example_ to you, in the event you ever decide to go against me," Michael snided. "It would be a shame, consider _you_ are my flesh and blood."

"WHY DID YOU KILL MY MOM, YOU CRETIN?!" Melanie screamed, his concilium having released her. "ARE YOU CRAZY? EVERYONE IS GOING TO _STARVE_!"

"Let them," he said coldly. "Let them _kill_ each other over food and mates."

"Dad… you're _insane_!" Melanie said, tears coming from her eyes at her mother being killed by him. She felt such rage in that moment that she wanted to end it all right there and kill him herself, knowing full well she would risk her life in doing so.

" _She_ was insane… I give her _everything_ , and she _still_ hated me…" Michael said angrily.

"She still did _way_ more for this kingdom than _you_ did as _King_!" she hissed, feeling her true form almost peeling from under her human guise. "Without her, we would starve… we would not prosper… it's all gone now, because of _you_!" She paused, knowing that he would probably kill her as well with the following statement: "all you do is _bask_ in the _glory_ of your people, sitting back and letting them worship you… Lucifer would be disappointed! YOU'RE A DISGRACE!"

Michael almost lunged forth with the blood-stained knife to stab her out of anger, but she used transmutation to get out of the way, going behind him a fair distance to try and buy herself time to escape. She had extreme fear in her eyes when he used the same means to get to her, and she transmuted to another part of the open concept. Miriam just watched on, absent-mindedly. Melanie noticed that her grandma was not even stepping in to intervene and stop Michael from trying to kill her, so she stopped and faced her in her next position.

"Grandma! Will you _stop_ him?! He's trying to-"

Before she could finish her sentence, she was run through from behind with the blade, right below her heart. Her face was frozen in a shocked, anguished expression for a moment before Michael removed the blade. Melanie collapsed to her knees, still fully conscious as she noticed she was quite close to her mother's dead body on the floor. Using her last draw of breath in that moment, she whispered with intention.

"Elijah… John… Ashley… t-those of my flesh and blood… hear me…"

* * *

" _Elijah…Elijah…"_

 _He was looking around for the source of the sound, hearing her distress call. In the red fog, he came upon Melanie, whose beautiful diamond-shaped face had blood dripping from the corner of her mouth, laying on the ground near-death. He felt such rage flow through him that he did not feel quite human, nor demon, anymore. He wanted to kill or very-slowly torture anyone who hurt his Princess. His eyesight began to throb as he took her into his arms and held her tightly. In the process he got blood on himself from the mortal wound in her chest cavity. Tears deluged his eyes, as he was so full of hate and odium he was not in a stable frame of mind._

" _Who did this to you, my Princess?" Elijah asked with gritted teeth, his eyes dripping tears on her._

" _H-He killed my mother… then me…" Melanie replied._

" _Who?" He was trying to be patient, but his fury was incensed to the point of nearly exploding._

" _The King…" she answered weakly. "Please… y-you may not-"_

" _I don't care WHO he is!" Elijah growled. "King or not, I'LL KILL HIM!"_

" _Elijah… I… want you… t-to meet the others… in front of the…c-compound… t-they are our flesh and blood… t-they will h-help you," she stammered, struggling to speak._

" _They cannot_ touch _me or the King's level of ability. I can destroy him MYSELF!" he hissed. "Please, my love, don't you worry. I'll make this right…"_

Elijah woke up from his lucid dream with his heart racing, furious at what likely happened at the royal compound. Did His Infernal Majesty really kill the Queen and Princess? For what reasons? He got up from his bed and got dressed in the first clothing he could find before rushing out the door, out of the compound, and to where Melanie told him, in his dream, to meet others – did she summon them there through their dreams? He was about to find out.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _So things are getting REALLY intense in Regnum Infernale… Elijah and Michael are about to have a showdown of sorts, featuring all of the other progeny he bore. Wow… just stay tuned! All I gotta say!_

 _I know that yesterday and today were pretty much double updates, but I'll hold off for a few days until the next chapter! Don't worry, in the word of Michael Langdon "you won't be held in suspense forever"._


	19. Ch 19 - Gods and Monsters

**Chapter 19: Gods and Monsters**

When Elijah reached the base of the compound in which the royal family lived, he encountered a few familiar faces. His eyes widened, seeing John and the twins, Hunter and Axel Baxter. The twins were identical in every way; in fact, so identical, they needed to wear different clothing to distinguish themselves. Both had brown hair, dark green eyes, and were about as tall as John stood at six-foot-two. They also were very similar in build, a lanky frame with light musculature. They looked at him, leering mischievously and then looking to John.

"We didn't think _he_ would be here," they both said in unison – Elijah cringed, hearing them. That is something they always did, was talk at the exact same time.

"This isn't a laughing matter. The Princess' life is at stake!" John exclaimed to his best childhood friends. He then approached Elijah and stared him in the eyes with concern, putting his hands on his shoulders. "Are you okay?"

"I will be," he said fiercely, "once I get a hold of his _head_!"

"Are you sure we're not going to get killed for something like this?" the twins asked in unison.

"Believe me, I could destroy him myself if I could," Elijah challenged Axel and Hunter. "I don't know why…" He looked and saw three other young women present, one of which he had never seen before, " _all_ of you are here."

"We were called," Lydia Blackwell said as she crossed her arms over her shoulders, her bright red hair unmistakable even in the false nighttime darkness of the sanctuary. "I had a dream of her, she was stabbed."

"Same," Ashley Campbell said, stepping forward.

"I had a vision," came forward the young woman no one had seen before.

"Who are _you_ , exactly?" Elijah questioned, looking at John suspiciously as he was focused on the mysterious member present.

The young woman was intimidating, standing five-foot-eight, but that was not her most defining feature. Her eyes were massive and an intense blue color; it scared most everyone present there, summoned by a dying Melanie in their sleep. She had black hair framing a round-shaped face, and wore all black like members of the Cooperative were assigned to wear.

"Isla Fitzgerald," she said in a rather refined manner, stepping forward. "It is through my privilege as ward of the Cooperative that I have knowledge of being one of _you_. I am one of the King's children myself."

"D-Did you have a dream?" Elijah asked. "Of Her Infernal Highness dying in your arms?

"I think that was _just you_ ," John corrected like a smart-Alec. "No one else would probably do that."

"Shut up!" he exclaimed, turning back to Isla for an answer to his question.

"A vision," she said. _She's clairvoyant_ , thought Elijah.

"Can you tell us what you saw?"

"I saw Her Infernal Majesty, the Queen, telling the King how unhappy she is being Queen, and he took it as betrayal and killed her." Isla's explanation accompanied a stare off into space with her large blue eyes. "The Princess was frightened, woken up by yelling, she went to investigate. She called him crazy and a bunch of other things, tried to avoid his attempts to kill her, until he finally did."

" _Grr_ ," Elijah growled, fire burning in every vein and inch of his body. "I want his head!"

At that moment he headed toward the entrance of the compound, but was stopped by a hand on the back of his shoulder. He looked back at John's hazel eyes, pleading him not to just go up there alone.

"Get… your hand…off me," he said, slowly and indignantly, "and _stay_ out of my way if you know what's good for you."

"Elijah," John interjected. "The King _will_ kill you. You won't make it out of that place alive. You need some of us in there as backup."

"You can't even light a candle to my ass," Elijah retorted meanly.

"Oh, I _can_ light candles," John replied, " _and_ fires. Also, remember all the beatings I dealt on you when we were kids? I can do the same to _him_ up there."

Elijah stopped for a moment – _perhaps he is right_ , he thought, _there's no sense in being stubborn. Maybe it will buy me time to bring back my Princess_. He turned to look at John, and then to the twins, who stepped forward. He knew full well what they were capable of – they both possessed telekinesis, concilium and transmutation – all of which he had witnessed firsthand being bullied as a child by John and them. He then looked at the women present, who stepped forward. He knew Ashley and Lydia were the least useful, because they both possessed types of clairvoyance, but Lydia possessed conjuration. Then there was the mysterious Isla, ward of the Cooperative who spent most of her life isolated from the general population of Regnum Infernale who seemed to have some clairvoyant abilities but also mandatory agent training from the organization. He was quick to decide.

"You," he pointed to John, "Hunter, Axel. Come up with me."

"Wait!" Lydia shouted. "What about us?"

"You're staying here," John said bluntly. "Your powers are pretty useless in this situation. Sorry."

"Being a sexist pig is an old-world notion," the fiery redhead replied.

"Look, just do what the _hell_ I'm telling you!" he snapped.

Isla rolled her eyes and looked at the other young women as the sons of the King made their way up the front steps of the compound. _Idiots,_ she thought, _I'm still training to be a Cooperative agent, and they're relying on just abilities to fight him? The nerve_.

* * *

Michael was walking around the open concept where the bodies of Misty and Melanie lay dead on the floor. There was more blood around Melanie's body than there was Misty's, and by this point, he had given Miriam the knife and ordered her to get him a new dinner jacket and scarf. Upon killing the Queen and Princess, he could feel stronger vibrations through his being, as if their combined powers were absorbed into him. Being the son of Satan meant he was a deity on earth in his own right, but this made it all the stronger. He felt utterly invincible.

"Do you feel sorry for killing your own flesh and blood?" she questioned.

"No," he said with eerie calmness.

"You may reign much longer," Miriam said. "Doing exactly what you were put on this earth to do." She paused. "Maybe you could get a new Queen?"

"It is not worth it," he said spitefully, turning and looking down at his most loyal companion.

"But Michael," Miriam said, moving forward and looking up at him. "Don't you have _other_ flesh and blood in this kingdom that you should probably _eliminate_?"

Michael chuckled sinisterly: "they aren't in line for the throne, by my decree. I am not worried one bit."

Miriam smiled at her adopted son and clasped her leather-gloved hands: "hail Satan."

"Not quite," he said. "I do appreciate the sentiment, though." He paused, thinking for a moment. "Although at _this point_?" He looked down at the bodies of Misty and Melanie. "I may as well _be_ Satan."

"I am so proud of you," the android said, approaching him and giving him a tight embrace. "All these years, I've watched you grow, develop, and become who you were _truly_ meant to be. Now, you finally are."

Suddenly, the two heard the front door of the suite opening. _I thought that was locked_ , thought Michael as it opened up even more to reveal a very familiar face, framed by dark hair with identical features to his own; his eyes were full of the very fires of Hell. He gasped, seeing a tall, flaxen-haired man step into the open concept next, as well as identical twins. He was in shock – how did they get into the royal suite so easily? Before he could properly react, he saw Elijah raise his hand swiftly with rage behind his powers in use, telekinetically making Miriam explode into little pieces all over the open concept without even one sign of malfunction. White fluid spilled everywhere, and the impact was so great that Michael was launched back into a wall. John then stepped in and used pyrokinesis to burn the little fragments left of the android, the first weed taken out from an old regime.

"Lex talionis," Elijah said vengefully. "Do unto others, as they do to you. You took something _very dear_ away from me, thus to you, I have done the same… and am about to do _worse_!"

The growl in his voice was enough to make Michael quiver in fear. _Mrs. Mead was right_ , she thought, _I should have had them eliminated, let alone never born at all_. He struggled to get up from the impact that tossed him against the wall, and once he was on his feet, he looked at the young men with odium in his eyes. He could not believe that his own subjects had the nerve to challenge him head-on like this, in the royal suite of all places. Elijah, looking at John and the twin, spat rapid fire instructions using concilium.

"Do _not_ give him time to react! Buy me some time, I need to get the Princess," he ordered.

"Yes," John obeyed, using transmutation to get closer to the King and up in his face before he punched him with all his might – possessing enhanced strength, his punches were twice the power of the average humans, and Michael didn't seem like he could take it as his biological son clobbered him repeatedly with his fist.

* * *

Meanwhile, Elijah was quick to carry the Princess' body to what looked to be her bedroom, laying her down and leaving a trail of blood on the floor in the path. He laid her down ceremoniously on the bed, soiling her unmade sheets. He looked and saw that his dream was spot-on accurate as to where she was run through; right beneath the sternum, not quite damaging her heart but puncturing a major blood vessel and some of her entrails. He felt tears forming in his eyes as he looked at his dead Princess.

"Oh, my Princess," he sobbed. "I've failed you… I'm going to make this right…"

He gathered and centered himself to perform vitalum vitalis, the same procedure used to bring John back after he killed him for punishment. He put one hand over her forehead and another over the wound in her chest cavity, breathing his pure life force into her with full intention to bring her back. He took one more exhalation, and breathed it into her patiently before taking another; and another. Just when he started to feel lightheaded, he saw her jerk up and take one wheezy inhalation of air into her lungs. She had coughed a little bit before looking around her, seeing Elijah nearly fainting at her side. With full strength restored, she went to him and propped him up to look at her. She had fearful tears in her eyes, and this was enough to make him give her a bear hug.

"You're back…" he said under heavy, happy tears. "You're back, my Princess. It's alright… he won't hurt you anymore…"

"Is he still out there?" Melanie asked.

"Not for long. You need to _hide_ ," he ordered her.

"You're giving _me_ orders?" she asked stubbornly.

"Please, for your own good, Princess," he said, coaxing her to listen. "I don't want you hurt again."

He grabbed her softly by the arm, and she looked at him, feeling herself being led to the closet full of her luxurious clothing – coats, skirts, gowns, dresses, blouses, and there were even chests full of jewelry fit for a royal such as herself. He had her sit down on the floor, looking down into her eyes with his piercing blue ones. He planted a kiss on her lips and sighed.

"He'll find me, Elijah!" she exclaimed. "He's the _Antichrist_. He _will_ find me!"

"Don't you trust me to fulfill the vow I've made to you several times over?" he asked, smirking confidently.

She nodded, looking up at him weakly: "y-yes… I trust you. You've never given me reason _not_ to."

"That's the spirit," he said, getting ready to close the door. Before he did, he uttered a simple: "I love you, my Queen."

Her eyes widened, feeling the darkness overcome her. She tried not to panic, for being in the closet reminded her of the interviews she helped her father with at Outpost 3 as a child. It also was when she saw a snake, one of her biggest phobias, slithering up her leg. She did not have good experiences in closets at all, but there were bigger things at stake to worry about.

* * *

Elijah went back out to the open concept from Melanie's room, where he hid her, seeing a rather humorous sight – the twins, Axel and Hunter, were telekinetically tossing him back and forth to keep him unable to maneuver to properly attack them. However, it seemed they picked this up fairly recently, as he saw John laying lifeless on the floor. He went over to him to peek at what happened, and his neck was bent in an odd, unnatural fashion. _We'll take care of him later,_ he thought.

"Put him down boys," Elijah said, using concilium to stop the twins from using their telekinesis to toss the King around like a ragdoll. When they did, Hunter was the first to speak about what happened to John.

"He snapped his neck with a simple snap of his fingers when he got tired of beating him finally," he said quickly. Elijah shook his head and turned around, facing the apoplectic, seething King that was the subject of their attacks for the unjust killing of the Queen and Princess. Michael's face was covered in blood stains, and it appeared as though he sustained a few fractures to his nose, cheekbones, and one eye socket. _Wow, John, you really went hard on him_ , he praised his dead enemy-turned-ally in his mind.

"Do you really think you can defeat _me_ , _little Elijah_?" Michael asked rhetorically and evilly. "I can feel you brought your _Princess_ back… you must feel _so special_."

"SHE DID NOT DESERVE THAT! NEITHER DID THE QUEEN, YOU TYRANT!" he screeched, feeling his heart about to stop from the intensity of his emotions. "I was a loyal subject, ALL of us, until you did THIS! Now, I take your head because you DARED to harm the Princess!"

"Die trying, little boy," Michael snickered.

He turned to the twins, raising his hands and holding both in a chokehold with telekinesis. Axel and Hunter were on the verge of choking to death instantly from the hard hold he had on them, but Elijah looked around to act fast, so they would not die, and that Michael would not succeed in trying to kill them. On the wall in the corner near the fireplace hung the sickle used by the Queen when harvesting sorghum and other stalk-like crops for the kingdom. He felt this to be the perfect tool to achieve his goal with, so he used telekinesis and reached for it, the handle flying flawlessly into his hands before he used transmutation to go behind the very-distracted Michael. Without hesitating, he grabbed a hold of his long golden hair and dug the curved blade into him, making him lose control and drop Axel and Hunter to the floor. The sickle had penetrated Michael's lung, and he looked back, just laughing as Elijah felt this deep jab was not enough to kill him.

"Normally, that would work," he chuckled, "but, I am not like normal."

Elijah growled like the half-demon that he was, his voice changing drastically. He dragged the sickle's blade through muscle and tissue underneath his ribcage, damaging vital organs in the process. It was then that his own true form came out for the very first time, alarming Michael in his moment of brutal failure – the handsome, dark-haired boy's face and form seemed to morph into a malevolent creature with tall, straight black horns, a mixture of black and brown fur, eyes that shone black and red, and two rows of perfectly filed teeth, much like his own daughter's true form had. His eyes widened as tattered bat wings came out from his back, feeling the sickle come out of his back and his last moments of consciousness as the sickle sliced through his neck perfectly in one swipe, decapitating the King.

When every bit of life force left Michael's body, it seemed to transfer into Elijah, but little did he know that Melanie was affected by it in hiding. He could feel his true form start to fade back into his human guise, taking a few deep breaths of relief that his vow to the Princess was fulfilled. He had avenged her fully, and did his sworn duty in protecting her. He got up, but felt like something was missing. He tried to think about what it was, until flashbacks of seeing the live execution of Timothy and Emily Campbell replayed in his mind. He recalled how the King and Princess ate their hearts upon death, as some kind of unholy sacrifice to the literal gods their people bowed down to as their royalty. _Wait a minute_ , he thought to himself.

Elijah went to go look at the twins, but did not detect any life force from either of them. He was too late in trying to save them – both Axel and Hunter had died from Michael's asphyxiating them with telekinesis. He was the last man standing, aside from Melanie, whom he had saved while the others bought him time to do so. He walked into the Princess' room and promptly opened the door to the closet.

"Eek!" She was also alarmed by the fact he was covered in blood.

"Oh, I didn't mean to scare you," Elijah said, holding her hand, "are you alright?"

"Yes. Never the better," she answered. "I feel… so different." She had a spectral, unworldly glow around her, just as he did. His was all the stronger, because he also possessed the vibrations characteristic of a Supreme of the Salem descendants.

"As do I…" he smirked. "Come with me, please. I have something to offer you."

Melanie was led by him to the open concept, where she gasped at the additional dead bodies lying on the floor in addition to that of her own mother. Elijah did his best to keep her calm as possible while he held her hand, bringing her to the mangled body of her father, the now-former King. She got on her knees, as did he, and she felt absolutely nothing except for the fact that justice was served. She sighed and looked at him, watching him reach in through the wound he maimed him with and tearing his heart from the chest cavity. Elijah smirked, and Melanie's bright blue eyes widened as he held it in her hands with her.

"You are our Queen," he said reverently. "This is my offering to you. Please… accept this."

She nodded, but looked at him: "I will, except… I wish to _share_ it with _you_."

Elijah's eyes grew larger: "but…"

"No buts," Melanie challenged playfully. "If I am Queen, it is by _my decree_ that you are in line for the throne, as my _King_. Only someone of that rank or higher could pull _this_ off. You deserve it."

"Y-You take a bite first," he offered. "Go on."

Melanie spared not a second more and bit into her father's heart, tasting the sinewy texture and gamey taste; it was not the same as eating her first human heart at the Campbell execution, as it was more bitter and tasted of brimstone. She still swallowed her share before offering Elijah a bite, of which he eagerly took a huge chunk and chewed it like a ravenous carnivore. They alternated bites until the heart was all gone, and looked at each other. Melanie rose to her feet, holding her hand and pulling him to his. He smiled and caressed her face, getting blood on her curls and skin as he shared a tender kiss with her. She returned it, and broke it to look up into his eyes.

"We aren't quite finished," she said.

"What is next?" he asked her obediently.

She raised a finger and used telekinesis to trigger the fire alarms in the compound, effortlessly making the loud, rough beeping go off, waking up anyone present and sending them outside where Lydia, Isla and Ashley were waiting behind. Elijah knew why she was doing this – _to gather everyone and let them know the news_. The next thing she did was go over to John's lifeless body, aligning his neck to be straight before working resurgence on him. Unlike previous times performing it, she did not feel faint, nor did she take a very long time to do it – he sprung up to life within thirty seconds, looking around and seeing the Princess looking up at him.

"Ugh, not again with my damn neck," he joked, putting his hand on where the crook was that Michael afflicted on him to cause his second death. "Is he gone?"

"Oh yes. Dead as it is outside this sanctuary," Elijah replied, trying to work vitalum vitalis on Axel, the first of the twins. Melanie took care of Hunter, the other one, who came up to life first before Axel, as vitalum vitalis took a little more time. Both of them looked at each other and laughed hysterically with triumph at their task. Elijah took the initiative to go over to the Queen, Misty, where she was laying dead on the floor. Melanie saw him going over to her, about to perform vitalum vitalis, but she transmuted and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Please," she said.

"Why?" he asked sadly. "Don't you want for your mother to live out the rest of her natural life?"

"She will rest in peace. We will trouble her soul no more, unlike my _father_ ," she said, remembering the unhappiness she confessed to Coco during their picnic as well as what she readily observed growing up with both parents. "It is out of love that I am telling you not to bring her back." Elijah nodded and sighed sadly, looking down at the Queen with deep respect and reverence before standing up.

* * *

"What is going on?!" one resident asked frantically. "I've never heard the alarms going off."

"Probably some kid setting fires again," Gallant, a former resident of Outpost 3 said in response. "I wouldn't worry."

"What the _hell_ does he have in his hand?!" someone asked.

They all looked at Elijah, who held the Queen's bloodied sickle and Michael's head by his hair. He himself was covered in blotches of blood. Also present were John, Axel and Hunter, all looking visibly weary and tired from what just happened. The people standing outside screamed in horror to know that the King was dead, conquered by one of his own subjects. Elijah held the head up as if he won a trophy, and more screams ensued. Melanie stood right next to Elijah in between him and John, and looked at everyone – it seemed like the entire sanctuary came out to see the spectacle triggered by the fire alarms in the compound. Even those in the other compounds came out to see why there was such a large crowd.

"THE KING IS DEAD!" someone shouted.

Melanie, caught up in the pandemonium, raised her hand in an enclosed fist and shouted with intention. Her voice seemed to shake and create waves, as everyone followed her command.

"SATIS!" she shouted. "That's ENOUGH!" Everyone watched her look down at her pajama top to see that it was drenched in blood. However, Elijah's use of vitalum vitalis to revive her healed it completely over. A few subjects tried to step forward to see if the Princess was alright, but she addressed their concern before they could do so, pacing in front of the precipice of the crowd. "Your King killed me, as well as the Queen."

"Oh no…" she heard from the crowd, along with tears of sadness and mourning.

"How are you alive, Your Infernal Highness?" Gallant stepped forward, asking the Princess.

Melanie turned, gesturing to Elijah behind her, who still held Michael's head and the Queen sickle but off to the sides: "Elijah Cross is his name." His name resonated through the crowd like the northern lights on an Arctic winter night. "Know him, the man who carries the King's head is the one who restored my life."

" _Ahem_ ," went John, getting her attention. She just rolled her eyes and was cued to give them the credit they deserved.

"Also, John Vanderbilt, and Axel and Hunter Baxter have also lent a hand in preserving my life," Melanie added. "As well as… Ashley Campbell… Isla Fitzgerald… and Lydia Blackwell. Come forward, my sisters."

All three young women came forward through the crowd toward the Princess, looking at Elijah and their other half-siblings. Melanie looked at her people, who still looked despondent over the deaths of their reigning monarchs. She could sense through every soul present that there was some confusion as well.

 _Why did the King kill the Queen?_

 _Will we starve? The Queen used to reap and sow all of these lands by her leisure with some help._

 _Why doesn't our soon-to-be-Queen kill this traitor?_

"I will _not_ ," Melanie sternly said, replying to the person from which she sensed the last sentiment from. "You're a traitor for thinking such a thing. You will _bow_ to him as you would _me_ or my father before me!"

"I'm sorry, Your Infernal Highness…" Melanie noticed a black woman coming up to her, recognizing her as Dinah Stevens from Outpost 3, now nearing older age. "I… _accept_ you as my Queen."

She was the first to bow to Melanie's feet, and a few others followed suit. She looked at her half-sisters who also bowed to her feet, and John, Hunter, Axel, and the rest followed suit in a wave until she and Elijah were the only two standing. He looked at Melanie lovingly with reverence, smiling with delight as he got on one knee, putting the head and sickle down as he gazed up at her. She smiled and shook her head, making him rise to his feet by tilting his chin up to her until he was looking down at her. He put his hands on her waist.

"Elijah," she said.

"Yes, my Princess?" His piercing blue eyes looked down at her with a sense of renewed love and devotion, especially since he brought her back to life.

"I know that you do not wish to be King, but… if I _asked_ you because I _chose_ you," Melanie began, "would you be willing?"

Elijah smiled slightly, looking down at her pink lips: "I would do _anything_ for you, my Princess. I am your devoted slave… _and_ your King."

Melanie felt her heart overflowing with joy at what he said, holding his hands and squeezing tightly. She felt so secure, and he was happy that he was able to fulfill his promise to her, to protect her and avenge her whenever something like imminent death were to happen, or harm were to befall her. He knew he was going to keep with his vow for many, many years to come.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _This is the last chapter of_ _Daughter of Darkness (AHS: Apocalypse)_ _, so for those that stuck around, THANK YOU for every bit of support and inspiration you've given me to keep it going._

 _However, THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE, so please stay tuned for that!_

 _If you've enjoyed this, please leave a_ _Review_ _,_ _Favorite_ _and_ _Follow_ _me if you aren't already! Again, thanks so much!_


	20. Epilogue - Gods of Hell

**Epilogue – Gods of Hell**

There was no question about it – all of Regnum Infernale, the kingdom established by Michael, was quick to accept Melanie as their Queen Regnant. However, they were slower to accept Elijah on the fact alone that he killed the King, an unspeakable act for anyone to even think about. She was the Princess whom the subjects in all three sanctuaries had seen grow up, albeit rapidly, before their very eyes, thus she was more than familiar with her people. Their coronation was a grand affair, but because the crops in the Queen's Gardens (as the orchards and fields created by Misty were affectionately called) had not been tended for a while, the meals were not nearly as sumptuous as during the reign of Michael and Misty. However, Melanie and Elijah were treated with semi-raw animal organs served with various side dishes; all of which, they relished. Their half-siblings were all given high seats in close vicinity to the newly-crowned Queen and King, and were served the same dishes. As usual, the evening pressed on with revelries lasting the entire night into the early morning, but Melanie did not make it mandatory to party all night like her father once did – "for as long as you'd like," she instructed.

Elijah had a lot to learn under his new title, His Supreme Excellency and Infernal Majesty, King of Regnum Infernale; he originally did not want the title. He only wanted to be with Melanie, not caring if he even was her personal slave. Yet, he was definitely made for the job, being the son of the Antichrist and a Supreme Witch defining it all the more for him. Despite personal transformations, such as killing and punishing both John and the King in his relatively short life, he still found himself questioning his ability to carry out such a major role in the new world. Melanie was always quick to reassure him and try to guide him the best she could, as royal life was something she was used to. Even for herself as Queen, she remembered how her father once ruled, but still made her reign that of her very own.

As for their half-siblings, the newly-crowned royals put them, as well as anyone else in the sanctuary of demonic descent, in a different class above the general population. Each were given titles, within the range of arch-duke or duchess, but it was simply for show aside from distinguishing them from the rest of the sanctuary. They were also physically recognizable, not so much by dress or manner (save for special occasions like royal celebrations), but the red eyeshadow that was applied from the inner corner of the browbone down to the tear duct. This was clearly a subtle nod to how Michael appeared most of the time, and though Melanie was not a fan of social class systems, she thought this would help cut down on the incest that had gone on in recent times. If one person could tell another was of demonic descent like they were, then they knew to not have children with them; at least, for a few generations. One such challenge involved tracking down the biological children of John Vanderbilt so that they may wear the red shadow like their father. They had been recorded in the genetic databases upon birth, with their father listed as John. He had so many sexual affairs with women in the sanctuary that his unions produced a total of seven children alone; three boys and four girls, all ranging between infancy and two years of age. One of the infants, a daughter, was bore by Lydia Blackwell, also his half-sister. The baby was examined for defects and born three months after conception, like a pure demon birth. She was in perfect health and shape – this gave Elijah and Melanie hope of trying for a second child because they were in the same circumstances.

The new King had been devastated to know that their firstborn was miscarried, but the passions he shared with Melanie were enough to conceive again. This baby, a son, was carried to a three-month term and also delivered in perfect health and shape despite that he was born of incest. He had thick black hair, bright blue eyes, and fair skin. His date of birth was recorded as December 20, 2027. Melanie and Elijah named the new Prince Anathem; it was unique, derived from the Greek _anathema_ , meaning "that which is shunned", or "cursed by church authority". This was extremely fitting for the Prince of a satanic utopia, and upon his birth, people from all over the three sanctuaries gathered to bow to him and bestow their well-wishes and gifts on the royal family. Subjects were not permitted to hold or touch the baby, but they were able to view him and pay forward their joy and praises in a receiving line of sorts in the Grand Hall – Melanie and Elijah were on the stage with baby Anathem in a tilted-up bassinet at just the right angle for him to lay comfortably while still being viewed by his people. Standing on the stage behind the royals were those in the Demon class, their eyes half-bordered with the unusual red eyeshadow on their inner eye sockets, staring down at the subjects with watchful eyes over their Prince.

* * *

In October of 2028, Melanie and Elijah had decided to implement an annual traditional gathering of themselves and their half-siblings, as well as any of their children old enough, to partake in Devil's Night. They had read about it in a strange ledger book with a list of names, possibly of party attendees, they found in the deepest annals of the sanctuary library and felt it was a perfect time to celebrate camaraderie and loyalty to the kingdom. They read that in involved killing people as part of the main event, but the two decided to put a more sacrificial twist to it.

"Let's make them human sacrifices," she thought aloud.

"I'm with whatever you want, my Queen," Elijah said passively with enthusiasm, "but how will we find someone willing?"

Melanie chuckled and looked at him: "it isn't whether they are _willing_. This is to test their loyalty to their kingdom."

Elijah thought for a moment: "and if they refuse, they die… _anyways_."

"Exactly," the Queen told her King. "We'd get a fresh heart to eat either way. See? You got it."

"I am still so new to this. I don't even feel like a King sometimes," Elijah confessed, his voice getting faster with anxiety. "I don't feel like a whole lot has changed, but it's probably because I am with _you_ most of all, and I could be the slave at your _feet_ and not have a care in the world."

"That's because you were not raised in a royal household," she answered, caressing his cheek with a smile. "You will be alright. This will be _fun_."

The evening of Devil's Night came swiftly, and Melanie and Elijah dressed in their very best for the occasion. She was dressed in a bright red slinky evening gown that was sleeveless but with a translucent long cape feature sewn in at the shoulders. She wore intricate silver bracelets, a garnet statement piece for a necklace, and the red ruby dangling earrings gifted to her from her father her eighth birthday the year before. Her hair was in a neat chignon, her curls mostly out of the way from her face. Elijah on the other hand was vested in a dark burgundy suit jacket with a cape feature sewn into the shoulders, his brown hair neatly combed to the side. Matching pants completed the ensemble, as well as an onyx brooch that was once owned by Michael. When they were ready, they made their way down to a secret underground floor of their compound, where the torture chamber was also located. The room behind this was set for the occasion and guarded by two android guards from the Cooperative, their silver faces ominous and intimidating. The interior of the room was set up like a mini auditorium with a raised platform for the tables and chairs that were facing the doorway. In the center was a stone floor, open as if it were a stage.

They took their seats at the head table, and Melanie telekinetically turned on the radio provided to them, and it played _Killer Queen_ by Queen. They waited for their elite subjects, one by one, to enter and bow before their Queen and King. The first to arrive was Lydia, then Ashley, and then the twins, Hunter and Axel; all of them were early. Isla was right on time, while John was fashionably late by five minutes, somewhat disheveled. This was pointed out by the twins, who spoke at the same time in unison.

"Did you get a good fill today?" they asked.

" _Oh_ yes," John boasted, smiling devilishly, "three girls. It's great when they want you to do things to their other holes."

Elijah and Melanie looked at each other, each thinking the same thing: _why do I feel the need to bathe_?

"Enough with the lewdness, John," Melanie ordered, standing from her seat and gesturing over to the empty chair next to Lydia, whom smiled at him grandly upon seeing him. "Go take your seat so we can begin."

As he went and did so, he sat down, taking Lydia's hand and kissing it in an unusually gentleman-like manner. She blushed and looked away strangely, hearing the Queen speak about the purpose of them being there and why they were invited.

"Ladies and gentlemen of demonic descent," she began, rising to her seat. "Welcome to Devil's Night. His Infernal Majesty the King and I read about this in a very peculiar ledger book we came across in the deepest annals of the library a few weeks ago, and felt that it would be a good addition to the already-existing celebrations of our birthdays, executions, and whenever a coronation takes place. This is not for the subjects; it is for _us_ , a symbol and celebration of camaraderie and loyalty between all of us, brothers and sisters." There had been a cup of wine poured for her, and she raised it up, letting everyone else know to do the same; Elijah had stood along with her, looking at her as she spoke: "may whatever happens in this chamber _stay_ in this chamber, or dire consequences will be faced."

"I promise," Lydia said.

"Me too," Isla said.

"We three," Hunter and Axel complied.

"I promise," John added.

"Yes," Ashley said with an excited smile.

"So," Melanie continued, taking the first sip of the evening, "drink and talk as you wish before the sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?" John asked incredulously. " _Who?!_ "

"Don't worry, it's none of you," the Queen clarified. "We have a _special guest_ invited for that."

"Invited? How did you break it to them?" Ashley asked, taking a sip of her red wine.

"I seriously doubt you wrote, 'you're going to be sacrificed'… or did you?" Lydia wondered with a smirk.

"That isn't even close to what I wrote," Melanie chuckled. "All I wrote in the invitation, was that she was a special guest at a dinner with Their Infernal Excellencies of Regnum Infernale for a crowning achievement."

"A _crowning achievement_ , huh?" John snided playfully. "What exactly did they do that was so great to get them sacrificed?"

Melanie rolled her eyes with annoyance: "John, the _sacrifice_ itself is the crowning achievement, in that he or she should be _honored_ to be selected to be our meal."

"Meal?" Ashley's face lit up. "Oh, please, let me have the liver!"

"What if they don't _want_ to be eaten, Your Infernal Majesty?" Isla questioned. "They'll die anyway for defying you."

"That is the point," Melanie said sinisterly, "if they resist, they still die. Just, not as _honorably_."

Elijah, sitting there, looked at his elite subjects, especially over at John. He had killed this man, brought him back, bringing him from rival and bully to his loyal subject as King, kissing his shoes like he was a mere slave. Though he was pretty down-to-earth for a royal of his stature, he felt great satisfaction knowing that if John did _one more_ thing wrong to him, he would be killed brutally in front of the entire kingdom and he knew full-well Melanie would let him be the one to execute him. He then felt his Queen take a seat next to him, and he looked at her with loving admiration. Out of the two, she as Queen wore the pants and spoke more when they were in public addressing subjects or at events like these. Elijah enjoyed letting her have the spotlight, because in his mind, _this is what she was raised for; to be a Queen, and a great one at that. I was not, but I made a vow to serve her, either as a slave at her feet or the King at her side_. He then got distracted from taking in his surroundings by a question from Ashley.

"Hey, Elijah…" She corrected herself, "I mean… _Your Infernal Majesty_ , what do you think of this new tradition?"

"I think our Queen has some novel ideas," he replied with a proud smile, taking the wine to his lips and sipping. "It's about time we have some traditions that bring us together, away from the public eye." He set down his wine glass and continued. "The old world had some of its own mysteries, as my Queen has told me, so why not the new have some?"

"Good point." She paused, and looked at the Queen. "When can we expect some fresh organ meats?"

"When that door knocks, the guards will bring the sacrifice in to us."

All of the demonic offspring of Michael Langdon drank wine and laughed, talking about different matters. John was cracking lewd jokes, wondering whether or not the sacrifice was a woman, naked, or if he could have carnal relations with her before they killed her if it did happen to be a woman. Hunter and Axel egged him on, much to the annoyance of the royals. Off to the side, Melanie could read into Lydia's soul; she had been silent when that dialogue went on, which was for a total of ten minutes. She sipped her wine, gulp after gulp, before refilling it while giving John a nasty side-eye. _No fair_ , she thought as Melanie sensed it, _I wish he would just grow out of this shit. I thought he told me_ I _was his favorite. Can't he realize that this sex addiction of his is going to get old and he's only going to be with the same people over and over anyways? Can't he just see more than just a birth mother or sex partner in me? I have feelings, too_.

"She's here!" At that moment, both Lydia and Isla, both clairvoyants, jumped from their seats and stared into space before looking at each other from across the room. John saw Lydia jump to her feet from her chair next to him and gasped.

"A woman!" he exclaimed, bringing his fists int himself with achievement. "YES!"

"Ah, she's here." Melanie said, standing up and taking Elijah's hand as she called to the other side of the thick doors: "let her in, guards!"

Everyone stood as the doors opened, letting in a woman of about thirty years of age with long, sleek brown hair, chocolate doe eyes, and a petite stature dressed in an ivory cocktail dress with heels and a simple bracelet. It was typical of the formal wear for most of their subjects, but the fact she was wearing white added to the symbolism of it all. The woman looked to her monarchs and bowed to both of them deeply, hands to her abdomen. John smirked at her, recognizing her as one of the women in the tryst he had earlier.

"Your Infernal Excellencies," she said, "thank you for inviting me. How cordial of you."

"The pleasure is certainly ours," Melanie said with a plastered smile as she let go of Elijah's hand but subtly led him down the step with her to be nearer to the woman who was to serve as the sacrifice. Soon, all of the demonic offspring followed suit, walking in a circle around her; she was quite confused, but almost put into an oblivious trance so she did nothing but answer what was given to her.

"What is your name?" Elijah asked.

"Beth Hume."

"How old are you?" Ashley was next.

"Thirty-one."

"Do you have progeny in this sanctuary?" Melanie came third.

"I do," said the woman. "I-I have a son, he is seven."

"Does he _look_ and _act_ seven?" John asked next, referring to whether the child was of demonic origin.

"Of course… what do you mean?"

"If he's _our_ kind of seven-year-old," John explained, "he would look and act like a young man of twenty-one."

"Oh, no…" the woman clarified, "he is a…a _human_ seven-year-old."

The circle of demonic offspring stopped making rounds about her, stopping in perfect timing as Melanie was face to face with her, along with Elijah at her side. The woman was startled but then smiled, mostly in awe of her exquisite red evening gown with a translucent cape sewn into the shoulders, along with the extravagant jewelry to indicate her status among her people. Everyone faced inward in the circle around her, but the woman's attention was only on Melanie.

"My dear, loyal subject," she began, putting her hands on the woman's shoulders. "I apologize, but you've been invited here on false premises."

"F-False premises?"

"Yes," Melanie affirmed.

"Have I done something to offend you?" she asked nervously.

"Not at all. Did it not say on your invitation that you were invited to celebrate a _crowning achievement_?"

The woman's doe eyes got wider: "oh… _yes_ , Your Infernal Majesty?"

" _That_ part is true, and yet to be fulfilled. You see," Melanie's voice danced regally in the chamber they were contained in, "you will _not_ be dining with us. You are our honorary sacrifice."

She could sense fear and extreme apprehension off the woman like a shark could smell blood in the ocean. The woman's eyes fixed down on the blade that Elijah withdrew from a sheath hidden on his person, handing it to Melanie. She kept it down as to not intimidate her too much, but the woman could not help but anticipate the biting sensation from the nine-inch blade, the same one the King used in the execution of the Campbells. She gulped really hard, and her mouth became dry. She thought she would die of cardiac arrest instead.

"Y-You're going to kill me, Your Excellencies?"

"Consider it a _great_ honor," Melanie said with a comforting smile, leaning in to gaze into the woman's brown eyes. " _You_ were chosen amongst less than two-hundred people in the entire world, across three sanctuaries, for this opportunity to serve us."

"But… why _me_?" the woman asked. "I-I have a _son_ , Your Excellencies. With all due respect, I am honored but-"

"God have appetites," Melanie told her with the same plastered smile as earlier, her voice wavering slightly. " _We_ are gods of hell. We are no different." She paused. "As for your son, he will be _well_ taken care of. I promise you that."

"Uh," John raised his hand, "may I?" _I want to calm her down, just to make this process easier_ , he thought, Melanie reading him like a book. She nodded with approval and the woman felt hands on the back of her shoulders. She turned to look up at John, whose gaze smoldered with desire. His eyes were hazel but seemed to sparkle gold – she had seen this earlier today.

"You know, I _knew_ you looked familiar," he cooed, leaning down and hovering his lips over hers as if he was going to kiss her. She was pulled in as if in a trance, her eyelids hanging over her irises as she was drawn in by his seduction.

"I told you I'd want you again," the woman sighed. John pulled her close to him and whispered in her ear; Lydia was the unfortunate one who heard everything because she was right in that part of the circle where he was speaking into her ear.

"Remember earlier? You had never had your ass penetrated properly, and you _always_ desired it?" he brought up. He paired a caress to the side of her neck and down her arm with his next line: "remember my touch on your skin as I pushed the limits of what you could _take_?"

"Oh yes… I want that again, _please_ ," she begged incessantly.

"Just remember that pain turns to pleasure _so fast_ and _so easily_ ," John whispered, biting his lip and breathing a little harder, feeling his erection rise in his pants because he wanted to have his way with her before taking part in the feasting.

"Only if it's _you_ doing it."

John looked over at the Queen, who was obviously grossed out by what he was saying and did not want him to prolong the process with his lewd charisma. He quickened the pace with the next line: "do you know that I _love_ you?"

"I could get on board with that," the woman said. "Do you really mean it?"

John thought for a moment, licking his lips to keep up appearances as he saw Melanie move closer to the woman's back with the nine-inch blade in her hand. He sighed, knowing when she was going to finally kill her: "not a word."

 _Ka-SHING!_

The woman's face contorted to one of horror and extreme pain, feeling the knife going into her back but not damaging her heart. She struggled to breathe as blood flowed, staining her ivory dress and making her collapse on the floor below them. Melanie smiled, watching the life leave her eyes, and looking at John with praise for his good idea.

"Ah, humans are such a joy, aren't they?"

She proceeded to lean down and carve the heart expertly out of the victim's chest, holding it in her palm and taking the very first bite before passing it on to Elijah, who took a hefty mouthful before handing it to Ashley, who eagerly did the same. Isla was next to take a bite of the heart, and then came the twins, Axel and Hunter. Lydia was next, and the last bite was reserved for John, who growled like an animal when he took a bite of the smooth muscle tissue. With their mouths covered in blood, they laughed maniacally and started to dance and spin as if in a frenzy. Melanie and Elijah kissed each other passionately, painting their mouths even more with blood until they heard demonic laughing that did not belong to any of them coming from a corner in the chamber, over the music even. They both saw a very familiar, emaciated gray face with black eyes and deep wrinkles shrouded in a cloak with the hood up. They looked at each other with disbelief.

"Did you see what I saw?" Elijah asked.

"I did indeed," Melanie replied, caressing his face with her bloodied hand. "He's very proud."

When they looked back at the corner with the shrouded, demonic figure, it was gone, never to be seen again.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_

 _Aaaaand, THAT'S A WRAP! I hope you guys really enjoyed this story as I did writing it. It's sad to see it end, because I felt attachments to all of my OCs and developing them through the text. It's surreal. I didn't expect to make a little comeback after two years of not writing any stories, but I sure did and I'm pleased with the results overall._

 _Special thanks to those who stuck by the story as it was being written, hanging onto every update and "stay tuned", and who wrote reviews and even inspired the events of the story. It truly means a lot. For those of you who are reading this as a completed product, I thank you as well!_

 _If you wish to be alerted for any future content,_ _Favorite_ _and_ _Follow_ _me. If you like the story, leave a_ _Review_ _telling me what you thought about it and sharing feedback, and also add to your Favorites! I'll see you on the flipside!_


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